December 13, 2009

I was Tiger's Older, Much Wiser Mistress

Do you think I should reveal myself as one of Tiger Woods' mistresses?

Think of the morale boost it would give all the post-menopausal women of America.

Tiger and I met at Borders, when we both grabbed the new Jeffrey Toobin book at the same time. I cannot tell you how many hours Tiger and I have spent together, discussing the Obama administration, Afghanistan, health care policy, and the best topic of all, illegal immigrants on the Mexican border.

Don’t you know he wanted an older woman, one who hasn't shaved her legs since the first Bush administration? One who wears SAS shoes? One who enjoys Saturday night in front of the television watching The Gaither Gospel Hour?

One who not only reads AARP Magazine but has been a recent centerfold, "Hoosier Woman Shares Recipe for Pork Chop Stew," volume 4, number 14.

Tiger has a woman with some intellectual depth here.

To hell with women of Nordic influence -- how about the Scots and the Germans? Nothing as beautiful as a green-eyed, pasty-faced, fifty plus, Plus-size woman with silver flecks in her hair, and semi-arthritic hands from too many years of using a mouse. A mature woman is a joy, a thing of beauty.

While I have no nude pictures of Tiger (or of myself thankfully), I think the general public will be interested to see that he has some intellectual depth, and sought out a woman of substance. I think I can positively affect his image.

My own family will be devastated.

But I think I'm over Tiger now. It was doomed from the beginning. Tiger wasn't happy that I had a really old cell phone, with no Internet capacity, and that I had to find my bifocals before I could send or read a text.

Tiger never would fly me to his golf tournaments, because I insisted on holiday M and Ms in my hotel room, and hated the small, uncomfortable seats of coach. And he dislikes going to sleep at 10 p.m. in front of the television. despite our long, intellectual discussions, seems he wanted more.

Back to my own sweet husband.

When he came home from work tonight I greeted him by saying, "You are the greatest golfer in the world." Well, somebody has to be.