I’m in a reading frenzy. I finally attacked the pile of books that I’ve had stacked up that I keep adding to but never make a dent in reading. I put a few choice selections at the top of the pile to rejuvenate my interest in reading and just finished the Pattie Boyd autobiography. Who is Pattie Boyd? Well. Without her, we allegedly would not know a world with the Eric Clapton songs “Layla,” “Wonderful Tonight,” and “Something” by the Beatles.

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The book mostly covers her relationship with George Harrison (from 1964 - 1977) and with Eric Clapton (from 1977 - 1989.) Those years are a major approximate, because the lines were so blurry. George was never faithful. Neither was Eric. Eric was so blatantly UNFAITHFUL that he impregnated a couple other women while married to Pattie. You feel bad for her, but then you don’t, mostly because of comments like, “When I found out Eric got ___(insert name here) pregnant, I left and moved in with my mother. This was very difficult for me because I was in the middle of in vitro treatments and I needed to continue.”

Um. What?

In Vitro is so fucking unbelievably painful and ridiculous that I continue to be stunned at the stupidity of this woman, whose life I formerly envied, to continue with the commitment to endure such a horrible process with a man who doesn’t care enough for his wife to keep his cock in his pants. She moved out, and yet, still saw fit to try to bring a child into the world in the middle of a dysfunctional relationship where she was living with her mother and he was living with the latest trash he picked up on his tour.

Funny how appearances are deceiving and a book can change your whole opinion of Rockstar Wives and music muses.

In the spirit of being the best wife possible, last night X went to bed early and I stayed up surfing the net as I usually do. One thing led to another and I found myself on a website, recommended by my compadres on my Real Housewives Message Boards, called Redtube. That link is NOT safe for work. It’s not safe for most places actually. It won’t start playing any audio, but your eyes will suffer a visual assault and there may be movement down below that you won’t be able to hide at your desk.

Anyway, I found something I thought X would be rather fond of, so I went upstairs, put the laptop onto my pillow facing him, hit play and let the light coming off the screen and sound coming from the speakers wake him up. Then I went into the bathroom to take off my makeup and get ready for bed.

You know…there really is nothing in the world like outsourcing your foreplay. Too bad Pattie Boyd didn’t have internet and couldn’t do that to keep things interesting. Maybe more songs would have been written about her.