Lessons on the art of American marriages

Diary,

Remember how last week I penned about meeting Miss Penelope Cruise at a bar in Chicago? Yes, like the actress Penelope Cruz, only she spells Cruise with a ‘ise’, not a ‘z’. ” I was intrigued that, while only in her late thirties, she had been married four times. Yap! That’s one, two, three, four times! Even more so, I wondered how she still managed to look so pretty and young.

“Money is the aloe of the soul, my dear,” she says in a nasal tone that sounds like she’s talking into an open jam tin. “Mother nature has nothing on the green buck.”

“Please, tell me more.”

“Tee-hee-hee! You Africans are so naïve.”

Her laughter really grates on my nerves. I guess that’s one area where mother nature still holds sway.

“What can I say?” I laugh. “We still exchange our women for cows.”

She leans closer. “Do you like my nose?”

How am I supposed to answer that? “It’s a beautiful nose. I guess.”

“You should’ve seen it while I still shacked with hubby number two. It resembled that of a schnauzer. Hubby number three bought me a brand-new one in Munich.

“And my chin? Had it modelled after that of Jennifer Anniston. Cost hubby number four a pretty penny in Thailand. Asia, of all places! Go figure, right?

“And as for my perfect face, first I had it botched in Mexico.” She whispered behind her palm: “Lesson learnt. Never let a Mexican married to a tequila bottle inject Botox into your skin.”

“But it looks flawless now, if I may say so myself.” I’m positive that’s the martini talking and not me.

“Thank you, dear. It’s the flawless job of the one and only Dr Deepak Ravindra of New Delhi, India. Asia to the rescue once more. Wanna see my lipo scar?”

“You mean where they did a liposuction operation on you?”

“I had it shaped like a love heart. You might get to play with it later. If you’re lucky. Tee-hee-hee.”

I’m not certain “lucky” is the term I’d use to describe my experience later that night. Having ditched my magnanimous host Dr Johnson, we ended up at Penelope’s impressive mansion, bequeathed her by hubby number one, who was now on his fifth wife. Or as Penelope put it, “That mousy-looking 20-something trash queen trophy wife.”

Once Penelope’s trendy clothes and the extortionate make-up on her face came off, it was all I could do not to run out of the bedroom shouting, “Medusa!”