Dear friens: I am glad to be writing to uno again. Is a wander, mek me tell you. Hall ova Jamaica, dem a haf carnival fi dis, an carnival fi dat. Poor likkle Jamaica a tun hinto de party capital. Me get so bex, cause it is so hackling fi get aroun. What a boderation do eh? Congession hevrywhere. People a run roun like prickle juk dem. But see here! Anyhow, mi haffi give praise to mi donkey Dorcas. Far hiff mi nevva did haf Dorcas, hall now mi wudda still a try mek it back from Kinston.

Mi receive wan letta from Italy. Dis lady really have it pon ar. She have wan maddeeks husban, dat mi no know how she no run way from home. Sit tight mi dears, an listen me.

Bon giorno, Signorina Dulce'!

I am an American woman living in Italy for the past twenty-seven years. I came here as a foreign student, then I married a man from Tuscany and have been raising my two children. I am the typical old-fashioned housewife and then some. I make my own bread, spices and seasonings. I have never given my children or my husband frozen food to eat. They also don't know anything about eating from a can.

When I first married, my husband mentioned he didn't want me to work. However, I thought that he was being overzealous and a bit protective. I went along with it until my children finished kindergarten. Now they are getting older and I would like to pursue a career. I studied interior decorating at one of the finest universities in Italy, so I have been trying to get a job in that field. My problems started when I took a few jobs to keep myself occupied while the children were at school.

I went to work for the baker down the street because he was short-staffed. The neighbor, Mrs. Gianelli told my husband that she bought bread from me at the bakery. Well, the next thing I knew, there he was telling the baker that he married me to keep his house in order and raise his two children, not twirling bread and making money. So I put on my coat and chapeau and bid my baking job adieu. Some time passed, and we both forgot about the whole fiasco. So then I decided to take a job decorating peoples' homes. This time, the children called my husband to ask when Momma would be home. Well, he was seething with anger. He came to the house I was decorating and told the people that I am a bit loony. He said part of my illness made me wander off and say strange things. Again, I grabbed my coat and went home with him like the good obedient wife.

Ms. Dulce', he is impossible! He won't even entertain the idea of me working in the garden. He says if he wanted a gardener, he would have married one. So my days are filled with taking care of my children, not that I resent that. However, he just wants me to sit around like a piece of valuable antique. The other day I ventured out to the salon and cut my waist length hair into a bob. Well, he went to the salon and draped up my beautician and called him a butcher. He said he had massacred my beautiful locks. The poor man is still taking tranquilizers to relax. Needless to say, I have been banned from putting scissors in my hair. I am not even allowed to feast on bon-bons. Did I tell you, that he also watches my weight for me? Everyday he weighs me to make sure that I haven't gained a pound. Heaven forbid, if I gain a pound! There would be no tiramisu for me for a week.

Please help me, I feel like I'm suffocating. I'm about to take the first gondola to Never-Neverland.

Sincerely,
Trophy Wife strangled by spaghetti

Dear Mrs. Trophy Wife:

No parle italiano. However, Ms. Cacia Park did tell me one time dat true love nevva run smoode. De secret to having a compliant man, is to train him up wen yu a date, so dat dese tings don't become bodersome when yu marry. It is halso good to discuss dese tings before yu marry a man. But like mos yung oomen, yu was probably so mesmerized wid im sweet talkin dat de housewife part nevva did sekkle like dus inna yu mine. Now dat de honeymoon is dun, is time to pay de piper.

I mus sey that a haffi agree wid yu husban. Nowadays, yu haffi raise yu own pickney dem. If de man don't want yu fi go wuk, den stay home an mine yu pickney dem. Hif im did wan yu fi wuk, I'm sure im wud be de fus wan fi shoob yu hout de door. Stop run up an dung like yu navel string tye a street. Stay home an look hafta yu chilren. Im may be a male chauvanist, but I hagree wid im reasonin. Too many tings a go on wid chilren dese days.

Hif me wus yu, mi wudda decarate mi hown house an give im de bill far it. Considar it workin far de CEO hof yu house. Dat wey yu cyan hearn a pocket money far yuself. See how yu cyan get tings dun, so hevrybody happy?

As far as him weigh-weighin yu. I don't know wey imma tink sey. Now dat is out of orda. Yu is a big ooman an him should nevva do dat. Im tink sey im name Jack LaLanne. Hafta you not a prize cow or bull. My dear, yu husban seem to be a bit controlling. Me a go sen im wan Dr. Phil video so im can get sum pointers. Halso, give im sum sanotogen fi drink a day time. Dat will sekkle im nerves, and if dat don't wuk, give him a likkle wine. Im will be too busy nursing a hangova. Yu haffi tan up to him and tell im sey you not no "soft soap". Do like im sey an mine de chilren, but don't mek im treat yu like a relic in a museum. Yu haffi mek dese men tink sey dem is the power on the trone, when in reality you are de powa behine de trone. Yu will be happy sey yu did mine yu chilren, hespecially if yu don't raise any likkle "Jeffrey Dahmers".

Tek care, till next time. Stay away from dose gondolas and the gondoliers. Yyou might be jumping from the fire into the frying pan.

Arriverderci!
Ms. Dulcimer