It must be the scurvy talking

"Darn you, Thomas Friedman, quit being such a gloomy Gus."

That is what I said to my husband Thomas Friedman this evening.

I know all of the great things Thomas Friedman has done. The great things I have not memorized word for word, I have on the laminated bookmark Thomas Friedman made for me for quick reference: 50 Reasons Why Thomas Friedman Is the Greatests of the Greats.

But this evening, Thomas Friedman just got on my last nerve.

Thomas Friedman can say, "Oh Bettina, my moon worshiping third world child, you are feeling that way because of your monthly visitor."

Thomas Friedman can say that over and over if he wants. Thomas Friedman must have said that twenty times this evening and to be honest, it creeps me out. I have a period, not a monthly visitor.

I said, "Thomas Friedman, why must you speak in riddles? You make it sound like CPS is come to check on me. My monthly visitor? It is a period. Say what it is."

This just prompted Thomas Friedman to say I had PMS from my monthly visitor and that I got like this everytime it was time for my monthly visitor. I am not even on my period. I had my period when Thomas Friedman spent two days lying on the "vinatage linoleum" in the kitchen, curled up in a fetal position, sucking on his thumb and soiling himself. A period of time he now refers to as "primal scream therapy." There was nothing therapuetic about cleaning his mess off the kitchen floor, "vintage lineleum" or not.

But when Thomas Friedman gets an idea in his his head, he is right and everything just proves he is right even when, to anyone else, it proves he is wrong.

From the moment the paper was delivered this morning until he finally went to sleep tonight, Thomas Friedman has been moping around all day.

Nothing I say helps and is just one more reason why the world is against Thomas Friedman.

Finally, at six this evening, after he has not moved from that chair of his all day, I say, "Thomas Friedman, you are getting on my nerves."

Thomas Friedman's column schedule has been moved around. Now Thomas Friedman's column appears on Wednesdays and Fridays, I think. I should know because this is the only thing Thomas Friedman talks about but I really had to tune him out most of the day because I was not feeling very generous to him when every other minute he was griping about this.

"Paul Krugman! And two blowhards waxing on about taxes! No one wants to read that boring, old Europe shit in our post-9-11 world."

"Well," I say back to him, "that just means that people will read Thomas Friedman today because the other stuff is so boring. They will look at the page and be so happy that Thomas Friedman is on it saving them from the boring stuff."

No, Thomas Friedman, says they won't look at him at all.

Today, his column runs on the far right of the page and it is the fault of that "damn Gale Collins."
I am guessing he is so busy moping that he thinks this mighty wind blew his column over there.
Thomas Friedman is becoming so focused on this Gale Collins that he can think of nothing else.
At times, I start wishing this great gale would develop into something. Not a tsunami or a hurricane or anything that will hurt people, but something that would justify Thomas Friedman's constant obsession with it.

But his column is on the far right and "stupid Bettina even you should know" that readers eyes drift automatically to the left "not unlike this country unless we use the metaphorical ruler to rap them on their metaphorical wrists." So since readers eyes go to the left automatically, they will not notice Thomas Friedman at all.

He has been a gloomy Gus all day. And I made the mistake of saying, "Thomas Friedman, maybe you are just a little under the weather. Here, take some of my vitamins and see if that helps you."

Thomas Friedman has taken the entire bottle.

And my body must now crave the vitamin C it has so long been deprived of because all day long I have been feeling my skin is itching or crawling. Thomas Friedman suggested that I might have scurvy. And instead of thinking, "Oh Thomas Friedman must be right because he is always right," I ended up thinking, "For all the money he makes, why he insists on wearing those awful lime-green suits that look like he bought them off the rack at Sears, I will never know."

Or, "That mustache is not charming or cute and if he is going to try to pull it off, he should at least learn the importance of trimming it."

Or how about this? "Thomas Friedman uses a lot of words but in the end he really does not say anything and if his column is on the far right today, maybe that is because he belongs on the far right."

It must be the scurvy talking because everything he has done today irritates me.

At one point today when I again doubted the importance of where his column is placed, Thomas Friedman said to me, "Bettina, you are the only one who feels that way. Why, this morning, when I went to a Korean supermarket, the odd little creature behind the counter said, 'Thomas Friedman, you are a great man and you do not deserve to have your column run on the far right of the paper.' And when I hailed a cab this afternoon outside Manny's, the Pakistani cab driver said to me, 'Thomas Friedman, you are a great man and you do not deserve to have your column run on the far right of the paper.' Later, when I was standing in Central Park, a Guatamalan woman came up to me and said, 'Thomas Friedman, you are a great man and you do not deserve to have your column run on the far right of the paper.' So that, as they say, takes care of that."

I was just not in the mood for it.

I said, "Who is they! The they that say! And what is this nonsense about people talking to you! All the people you quote say exactly what you want to hear and speak exactly like you! And Thomas Friedman, you have not left that chair all day so do not tell me you have run into them because, other than a few dust bunnies under the chair, you could not have spoken to anyone today!"

Thomas Friedman's eye bulged as he whispered "Holy shit," put my bottle of vitamins up to his lips and took the last of them.

I was so mad because he had bogarted that bottle all day that I added, "And another thing! I do not think that I wore 300 count sheets in my village and if I did, I certainly did not wear ones like this with stains all over them. I think you are too cheap to let me spend money on dresses and so instead you continue to push these used, dirty sheets, purchased at Goodwill, off on me as my native dress!"

At least that shut Thomas Friedman up. He did not say another word to me all evening until he went to bed and he would look at me funny everytime I entered the room.

I am so tired from scrubbing the floors on my hands and knees and from squeezing his prunes for his fresh squeed prunes all day, and from doing his laundry in the kitchen sink because washing machines are "a sign of lazy character." I am tired from opening soy sauce packets and pouring them into a bottle.

I am tired of hearing, "Bettina, soda crackers now!" and having to stop whatever chore I am completing to run to the living room with a plate of his soda crackers and canned cheese which he says "does not taste right" and must have gone bad inside the can.

That does not stop him from eating it, oh no. Or asking for more.

And my scurvy must have given me a high fever because I keep having fantasies of living in a small apartment with an actual dishwasher and a vacuum cleaner and never having had to push one of those sweepers across the carpet. I am having fantasies of having my nails done and owning a Toyota. Surely we did not have cars in my mud hut village?

It must be the scurvy talking. Thomas Friedman's only words to me before going to bed tonight were, "First thing tomorrow, you are going by the pharmacy to pick up more pills."

I know I should be thinking, "The great Thomas Friedman is so concerned about my well being that it is the last thought on his brain before turning in. Not that Gale Collins that he is obsessed over, but me." Instead I just think, "I have scurvy and his lazy ass is sending me out on one more errand."

It must be the scurvy talking.

No Calm Before the Storm, It Has Moved In

It was so ugly today that my ears are still ringing. Not just because Thomas Friedman boxed me on them as he said, "Bettina, don't be the global village idiot! We are having a discussion!"
It was not a discussion.

Nicky Kristof came over to try to reason with Thomas Friedman. At first, I was so mad. It had taken me all day Monday and most of Tuesday just to cajole Thomas Friedman off the kitchen floor. For hour upon hour, he remained there curled up in the fetal position, sucking his thumb.

I got him up finally and I bathed him and shaved him. I hauled his butt over to the computer and even then I could not go and clean up the mess he'd made of the kitchen. Oh no, because Thomas Friedman was still saying, "I am a fraud! I am a liar! There is no bigger fake in the world than me! I am the all time liar in the universe!"

I was so tired and, honestly, a little mad, that I shot back, "Quit bragging!"

That snapped him out of it. After he threw the mouse pad at him and after he got over the fact that it did not fly through the air, he began to type.

He worked forever on the title of the column saying, "I'll teach that Gale Collins a thing or two!" Finally he settled on "The Calm Before The Storm?" Which he said was he was of showing Gale Collins just who was boss. Thomas Friedman does not like bad weather, I guess.

He said he was throwing down the gigabyte gauntlet and then chuckled so I laughed today. Stretching, Thomas Friedman finally smiled and said, "I still got it."

At last I could clean the kitchen and it was a disaster. Thomas Friedman might not have moved for almost two days but rest assured his bowels did. With one hand, I cleaned, using the other hand to cover my mouth and nose. Even so I kept gagging.

But he hammered out a column and all was good. He even was in the mood for Iraqi invasion. He played Donald Rumsfeld and I was US troops because Thomas Friedman said he wanted to screw me over the way Rumsfeld had the troops.

At 1 point, he yelled, "No condoms! You hear that, Bettina! No body armor for you! Stuff happens!"

There was a time, early on, when the thought of birthing the great Thomas Friedman's child would have pleased me immensely. But now that I realize how much is involved in the upkeep and care of Thomas Friedman, if we had a child, I think I would be charged with child neglect.
Thomas Friedman is highly demanding.

So I was glad that today went much more smoothly.

But then, this afternoon, Nicky showed up.

"Thomas," he said, "I just read your column --"

"You and the rest of the world," said Thomas Friedman puffing on his bubble pipe.

"And I have to know, are we supporting the war again?"

"We always did," said Thomas Friedman.

"I can not bend this way and that," whimpered Nicky.

"Of course you can, you do it every day!"

At that point, it got ugly.

Nicky started arguing in a very high pitch and saying things like Thomas Friedman was dead and that the paper knew it and it was over and that is why no more Sundays for Thomas Friedman.

I am thinking Nicky was drunk or high or something because Thomas Friedman is not dead.
A little gassy most evenings, I think it is the canned cheese, but he is not dead.

Thomas Friedman began shouting Nicky down.

"Okay, okay," Nicky said finally, "I will be for the war again."

"Good," laughed Thomas Friedman, "We all missed your pom-poms and splits!"

Oh was Nicky mad. He started yelling how dare Thomas Friedman question his manhood and Thomas Friedman replied that he was not questioning it because "how do you question what is not there?"

Nicky was crying and Thomas Friedman looked so happy.

Then the shouting started back up.

"Please," I pleaded, "you two are friends."

That is when Thomas Friedman boxed my ears and told me that Thomas Friedman was Nicky's mentor, not his friend.

Nicky accused Thomas Friedman of being a racist and Thomas Friedman said, "Play the race card, Nicky, it's all you have left."

"You have nothing left!" screamed Nicky. "You are out of date."

"If I am so out of date, how come three cabbies today told me that they lived for each word I wrote. Why is it that the sanitation worker I met todays told me, 'Thomas Friedman, I live for every word you write.' While at a Chinese buffet, the owner came up and said to me, "Thomas Friedman, I live for every word you write."

I do not know what he is talking about. Having finally gotten all the stains out of his shorty robe last night, Thomas Friedman has been in it ever since and he has not left the apartment. Maybe he meant last week?

He told Nicky that he called his column "The Calm Before the Storm?" because he was about to go to town on Nicky and everyone else who had stabbed him in the back.

Nicky left with tears streaming.

I said, "Thomas Friedman, that seemed so cruel."

Thomas Friedman said, "Bettina, my little uninformed idiot, I fucked him over. That is what we do at the paper. Haven't you been paying attention to all of the rumors of cheating?"

I did not grasp the riddle. I was just glad that the yelling had stopped. My ears are still ringing.
I do not know how I will find the energy to play "Back Door" which is the game we play when Thomas Friedman plays Thomas Friedman and I play Nicky. I have been taking my vitamins two at a time all evening on the half-hour. I still do not think I am up for that.

My husband Thomas Friedman says "The world is going to hell in an Enstrom's Gift Basket"

My husband Thomas Friedman says, "The world is going to hell in an Enstrom's gift basket!"

He has been furuious all morning and yelling and screaming things like, "The New York Times is the Hillary Duff of the global village attempting to pass itself off as the Meryl Streep!" I have never seen Thomas Friedman so mad.

Not even yesterday morning when I slept right through the alarm and was an hour late waking. I moved quickly to change his adult diaper from last name's game where he played William Safire and I played Peggy Noonan. But it was too late. Thomas Friedman had diaper rash, or adult diaper rash.

Thomas Friedman was so mad. He yelled and yelled no matter how I apologized. I said, "Maybe I did not take enough vitamins yesterday? I will go take some now. I will take the whole bottle." Thomas Friedman grabbed my arm and said, "Don't you Judy Garland out on me! I do not want to waste money on Betty Ford!"

I had no idea what that meant. I believe Judy Garland was the little girl in a movie dreaming about somewhere over a rainbow and that Betty Ford was married to a president. Rainbows and White Houses? Sometimes my husband Thomas Friedman speaks in riddles.

I was tired all day yesterday and kept trying to take my vitamins but Thomas Friedman kept saying I had a holler monkey on my back. That must be some new game he is playing, like Iraqi invasion, because everytime I checked, there was no monkey on my back.

But if I thought the day of adult diaper rash was bad, I had seen nothing. FYI, his heinie, though overly hairy, is fine now.

But Thomas Friedman is not fine now. He is so angry and so upset. Thomas Friedman is even swallowing my vitamins by the handful. I said, "Thomas Friedman, I thought you grew up with plenty of citrus. Why do you need so many vitamins?"

Thomas Friedman glared at me with squinted eyes and barked, "Kiss my ass!"

I dropped to my knees and started kissing, thinking, "Oh, he wants me to play Bill Keller again."
And I was saying, "Thomas Friedman, I am nothing but a glorified copy boy! A proof reader! I am not fit to print your columns! I am not fit to breathe air in a world whose most amazing natural resource is the great Thomas Friedman!"

I thought I was saying the things Thomas Friedman had taught me correctly but he pushed me away and stormed back and forth across the room with his flip flops flipping and flopping and his shorty robe riding up in the back.

He took my bottle of vitamins to his lips and emptied what was left into his mouth then threw it on the floor just like he does his socks, underwear, pants, shirt, tie and Biore Deep Cleansing Pore Strips. My husband Thomas Friedman can be sloppy but he always reminds me that it is part of his charm, "my quirky, endearing trait, my trademark, like the half-smile on the Mona Lisa or the beauty mark on Cindy Crawford." If you say so, Thomas Friedman.

In the kitchen he was hollering for me to get in there. I found him with a plate of his soda crackers and holding the can of cheese.

"Bettina, watch this," Thomas Friedman said to me as he took the can to a soda cracker and waited. No cheese came out.

He threw the can and it hit me in the forehead.

"You have been eating my snacks! Were it not for me, you would still be slaving away in Trenton and this is the thanks I get? You sneak through my snacks like Judy Miller stealing K-rations from sleeping soldiers!"

Trenton? Is that the name of the village I come from? I was thinking how musical it sounded. Tren-ton. And I was wondering if all my people lived in mud huts like Thomas Friedman has told me? I was trying to picture Dumb Asswipe, the man who must have been chief because Thomas Friedman is always saying, "Who taught you to do it that way? Dumb Asswipe!" or
"This meal is not fit to eat! Dumb Asswipe!"

But then soda crackers started flying in my face, pulling me from my reflections.

"No, Thomas Friedman, I did not eat your canned cheese," I insisted. "I know it is delicacy only fit for a great man like Thomas Friedman. I know that you say it is so costly that you can afford but one can a week. I know you work hard and deserve all the finer things in life and that I am grateful to merely sit beside you and reflect in your good taste."

"Stop repeating everything I have taught you!" Thomas Friedman yelled slamming the plate against a counter.

I was grateful I did not have another mess to clean. Nicky had once mocked the great Thomas Friedman for using styrofoam plates, bowls and cups. He had used words like PCBs which assume are some words from his native tongue. Thomas Friedman had snarled, "You are the McToxic here, Kristof!"

I felt so bad for Nicky because John Tierney had been over that night. He calls my husband Thomas Friedman "Big Tom" and Thomas Friedman calls him "Little John." And Little John had laughed and laughed at Nicky and spat out "Recycling is garbage!"

This had caused Thomas Friedman and Little John to start slamming their hands against the table as their laughter increased. Good sport Nicky (Thomas Friedman says Nicky is nothing if not a good sport) joined in the laughter saying that if two out of three believed something he was always happy to make it three out of three. Then he entertained us all with a story of a deadly tribe that was destroying the world, Nicky called them feminists, and all was fine.

My mind raced to that as I thought of how if Thomas Friedman had been using a glass plate, it would have shattered and I would have had to pick up the pieces. And what if a shard had been embedded into our "vintage linoleum?" I shudder at the thought because Thomas Friedman is made of greatness not money, as Thomas Friedman always says.

Thomas Friedman was on the floor pounding his fists against the "vintage linoleum" and sobbing.

He was screaming about this and that and I did not understand it all. Something was causing tremendous damage and wrecking the world, some sort of wind that I am guessing might turn into a hurricane. Thomas Friedman kept talking about this and damning it. "Damn Gale Collins!"
That is how much my husband Thomas Friedman cares for the world. A gale had reduced him to tears. He is such a caring man, I reminded myself as I rubbed the bump on my forehead from where the can of cheese hit.

The gale had blown the entire world into disarray. Thomas Friedman was fearful for everyone because although he is the most important and perfect person in the world, he cares for everyone. He brought up Little John and was saying things like, "Little John is not ready for this! This is the big leagues!" And I am guessing that Nicky was taking one of his brief stands because Thomas Friedman was screaming that Nicky had stabbed him in the back and was not up to Sundays.

"There, there, Thomas Friedman," I said pulling his shorty robe down to cover his ample rear.
"You always say 'Nicky caves quicker than Carter.' He will come around. He is your friend."

Thomas Friedman howled, 'Kristof is not my friend!"

Somehow this mighty gale was blowing through and tossing everything into chaos. This gale would somehow even effect his book sales. "The whole world is against me! Damn that Gale Collins!" I am guessing that in gales, like in hurricanes, people do not buy many new books.

I know Thomas Friedman was already angry that an actress had gotten all the attention last week and that his friend Blinky had not booked him on Face the Nation this morning. Is the whole world against Thomas Friedman?"

"Not me," I told him.

"Bettina, my backwater democracy grown ever stagnant," Thomas Friedman said wiping his eyes, "You do not understand! They have pulled me from Sundays! The biggest circulation day! They have moved me to Fridays! The only thing worse would be to be Mo Do being moved to Saturday when no one looks!"

Mo Do? I do not know. But I told him, "Come now, Thomas Friedman, everyone looks at you. You are the great Thomas Friedman. Why just this morning, when you went out into the hall to grab the morning paper in your shorty robe, did not the elderly woman next door shriek and scream? Because you are the great Thomas Friedman. That is why."

But Thomas Friedman did not answer me. He was curled in the fetal position and sucking his thumb. He has been that way for the last three hours and I am really starting to worry.

Thomas Friedman expects me to have the kitchen floor scrubbed each day before dinner and it is already half-past five.

A Disharmonic Wind Blows On My Husband Thomas Friedman

Thomas Friedman says we "have been largely immune to the disharmony winds of conflict." Which is his way of saying that until Sunday we had not had a fight.

There was a time when I would not have understood Thomas Friedman. Why? I do not know if it is the vitamins or if it is all the new words he is teaching me. Thomas Friedman calls the new list my list of adjectives to "use freely and often" to describe my husband Thomas Friedman.

"Mammoth" is on the list. But I am only supposed to use that when I am in the ladies' room or we are out on the town with Nicholas Kristof who Thomas Friedman insists I call Nicky because he is "a simpering, wimpering child again." I told Thomas Friedman that the way he said that, it was musical. Thomas Friedman humbly replied, "Well I am the greatest living writer."

I said, "Thomas Friedman is the greatest writer ever." I was so proud of myself because he's been drilling me on saying that when he says, "Well I am the greatest living writer." Thomas Friedman thinks I should say it more than just then. Thomas Friedman says that I should try to work it into conversations and to make it pop up normally and natural "as though you were asking someone to pass the salt." So I am working on that.

But "a wind of discord" has blown through our world and what was once happy is now "just another spot on the ever flattening world."

Thomas Friedman is upset because it is as though the world was suffering from "a toxic political correctness." Thomas Friedman says that the "toxic political correctness" has resulted in Pope-arama-Pope-Pope-Pope-till-you-drop and thanks to that the most important story of the week has been pushed aside: The great Thomas Freidman published a new book Tuesday.

Poor Thomas Friedman, the week should have been his. It would have been too. But for that Pope John Paul II who meant nowhere near as much to the country, the world as Thomas Friedman does. That is one of the sentences I am practicing per my husband Thomas Friedman.

He is so mad at "Blinky" for not booking him on Face the Nation this Sunday. He says, "After all I did for that fluttering-eyed fool, for him to book those "namby pamby nimrods is proof in the pudding and it is not pretty!" Thomas Friedman says without him on Face the Nation, there will be nothing to keep the viewers awake and "they will quickly fall into the land of snores and slumbers with nothing to do but count the number of times Blinky blinks."

Thomas Friedman says that no one even watches Faces the Nation which is strange because he also says that if he were on Face the Nation this Sunday his book would easily leap to the top of the bestseller lists. I do not understand how if no one watches the show, his appearing on the show would expose him to book buyers but he is Thomas Friedman and (a) he works magic and (b) he is not to be questioned.

He said that tonight when I said, "But Thomas Friedman, I have been defrosting the rump roast." Looking at me, Thomas Friedman said, "Bettina, I am not to be questioned." Nicky was due for dinner and Thomas Friedman said we could not afford to waste good money on the "woefully uncouth." Since Nicky was our only guest, I am guessing Thomas Friedman meant Nicky but I was attending too, after I was done serving, so maybe he meant me?

So it was lima beans with bits of bacon and I barely had time to quick soak the beans and then cook then before Nicky came knocking at the door. I topped each bowl with a dab of canned cheese and told Nicky that they were a native dish from my home country just like Thomas Friedman told me to.

Usually Thomas Friedman feels better after spending time with Nicky because "Nicky is so masterfully mundane and such a miniscule talent." But not tonight, tonight he was not happy.

At one point, I said to Nicky, "Pass the salt, please. Thomas Friedman is the greatest writer that has ever lived." For some reason Nicky snorted and the lima bean soup-ish dish flew out his nose. Thomas Friedman exploded.

"Get out! Leave my presence you mental vagabond, ever shifting this way and that from Wednesday to Saturday, on the shaky quick sand of your alleged principals!"

I had never seen Thomas Friedman so red in the face, not even when he hollers "Gut check time!" during orgasm.

Nicky attempted to apologize but Thomas Friedman was done with him.

"I am done with you! Cease your groveling! I will have no more of your sissy fit! Take your leave for you are boring me with your Grovel version 3.0! Return to your wife or, as everyone at the paper sneers, the only real reason you ever won your pity Pulitzer! Leave, little man, take your leave and be gone like so many desposed dictators of yesteryear!"

Wiping his nose with both hands, Nicky stood and backed out of the dining room. As I stared at Thomas Friedman, fearful that he might explode, we heard the door slam shut.

Since my husband Thomas Friedman was feeling so bad and sweating and sobbing, I said, "Thomas Friedman, you are the greatest living writer ever!"

"Lies!" he sobbed. "Lies! Like WMD, it is lies! Put it in a piece by Judy Miller and it would still be lies! Toss it over to Elisabeth Bumiller and it would be a plethora of adjectives piled one onto another over and over until the wheels fell off -- still lies!"

"No, Thomas Friedman," I said as I wrapped my arms around him. "You truly are the greatest writer ever. And to prove it we can do anything you want to tonight."

Thomas Friedman is sleeping now and I guess I am grateful for that. A genius like Thomas Friedman does not always want sex as he has told me many times on those not so altogether rare evenings when he is unable to perform. Thomas Friedman has stopped sobbing and that is good news.

He wanted to play William Safire tonight. That means I do not have to listen to him wheeze and gasp. No, I just have to put on the Peggy Noonan mask and grab the baby powder and an adult diaper. It is not that hard. Tonight. But come tomorrow there will be one poppy diaper to change.

Thomas Friedman and I had a fight but he is such a great man he forgave me

I do not feel well. My husband, the great Thomas Friedman, and I had a very loud, very angry fight this afternoon.

It all seems so hazy now so I may leave something out. I apologize. But as I remember it, one minute I was washing Thomas Friedman's silk boxers in the sink because they can only be hand washed as he tells me and I was looking through the Sunday magazine because Thomas Friedman says doing the crossword will help my English when I suddenly came across an article by my husband Thomas Friedman.

There was so much that made me angry that even if I was not hazy, I doubt I would be able to remember all of it. Thomas Friedman would say that is because I am a "bird brain" and do not finish my homework. He is still upset with me for getting a bit of drool on Longitudes and Attitudes when I fell asleep reading it last Wednesday. But it is a long book.

Thomas Friedman said, "Excuses are like assholes and as long as you keep touching that one, you can keep touching mine." As I was up to my knuckle, I made the mistake of smarting off and asking, "Could you please tell me, Thomas Friedman, what is a sexual slave?"
He got so mad he almost made me remove my finger.

Then he told me I needed more vitamins. I have never taken so many vitamins in my life. Thomas Friedman says that is because I grew up disadvantaged and he has rescued me. He told me that again during our fight when he insisted I take more vitamins and he upped my dosage.

Vitamin C makes me really happy but it confuses me too. I hope I am not allergic. Thomas Friedman says that I just grew up deprvied and did not get enough exposure to citrus fruits growing up so my body is adjusting now.

But I read his article or part of it and just grew so mad. He says right off the bat that he whispered to his wife "The world is flat." And he did not do that.

Then I read about some man named Nilekani saying to Thomas Friedman, "Tom, the playing field is beling leveled." Tom? Thomas Friedman does not let me call him Tom. I am his wife and he does not even let me call him "Thomas." I must always call him "Thomas Friedman." He says that is custom but now he is letting this man, this stranger call him Tom?

And at the bottom of the second page, I read that he has a new book coming out and my first thought is, "I have not finished Thomas Friedman's last book! After I finish washing out his silk boxers, I still have to take all the ketchups he brought home from McDonald's and squeeze them from the packets into the large empty bottle because he says fine eating places like McDonald's have a better quality of ketchup than anything you can buy in a store." That may be true but my fingers ache from doing the same with mayonaise packets and from the hot sauce packets he picked up at Taco Bell.

I say to him, "Thomas Friedman, when your friends took us to Elaine's Friday, there were no ketchup packets to be seen."

Thomas Friedman explained that his friends cannot afford the finer places that he takes me too. And that since they insist upon picking up the check to have the honor of bragging that they dined with Thomas Friedman, he cannot very well suggest that they take him to McDonald's or Sonic or Taco Bell or any of the other high class places he takes me. I am sorry that his friends do not have the money he has.

But I have asked for a food processor forever now because Thomas Friedman is on a hummus kick and he has told me that food processors are "declasse" and that we do not waste his money on "crap." So I use this mortar and pestle to ground the sesame seeds whenever the hummus mood strikes Thomas Friedman with him urging me to be "faster" and "faster" the whole time.

As I bake bread from scratch, scrub the floors with the same toothbrush Thomas Friedman expects me to brush my teeth with, and do a hundred other activities I never had to do before in my life, I was very angry to read that he has another book coming out, a TV special, and that he had taken a lengthy trip to foreign lands.

No food processor, fine. But could we not afford me to have one toothbrush for the kitchen floors and one for my mouth?

So I threw Thomas Friedman's silk boxers down and rushed out into the living room where he sat watching TV to see if there was anything that would improve my brain and learning skills.
Yes, I realize Thomas Friedman racks up many hours in front of the TV trying to find some programs that will help educate me and I am thankful for all of his hard work but I was very, very upset.

Right away, Thomas Friedman points out that by using my toothbrush to clean the kitchen floor it is always clean because of the bleach he makes me use on the kitchen floor. Thomas Friedman told me I was being selfish again and I do not like to be selfish to someone as great as Thomas Friedman so I apologized but brought up what he wrote, what Thomas Freidman claimed he told his wife.

Thomas Friedman said to me, "Bettina, you don't think I really believe anything I write do you?" Then he chuckled loudly and I had to smile.

He went to the bathroom and got my vitamins out of the medicine cabinet. He made me take six of each. They were very difficult to swallow but Thomas Friedman says water is fattening and I should limit my intake to no more than three glasses a day and by mid-afternoon I had already had two.

After I swallowed them, I felt funny and Thomas Friedman said that was my guilt because I was raging at him. I did not remember raging too well so I just said, "Thomas Friedman, I respectfully beg your forgiveness. Please tell me how I can make it up to you."

As usual, he wanted to play Iraqi invasion. I was afraid he would want me to play Richard Perle and him play Judy Miller but Thomas Friedman pointed out that I still not fully cleaned the wig he wears when he plays Judy Miller. I apologized again saying, "Thomas Freidman, I respectfully beg your forgiveness. Please tell me how I can make it up to you."

He was in the mood to play himself for a change which is easier for him but when I have to play Bill Keller, it is a lot of work for me. I have to stoop and grovel and beg and talk about how "Thomas Friedman is the greatest writer in the world. I am not fit to edit a paper that Thomas Friedman writes for. Thomas Friedman, I would lick the sweat off your sack if you would grace me with a smile."

After about twenty minutes of that, as I was licking the sole of his feet, the vitamin C must have been too much for me. I must have blanked out. Thomas Friedman was very angry when I woke up and told me, "You've just laid there for twenty minutes so let me finish up with no interruptions."

I did just that. When he finally hollered, "Gut check time!" I giggled and Thomas Friedman got mad because I did not do the polite chuckle he has helped me learn.

I apologized and apologized and finally Thomas Friedman forgave me because Thomas Friedman is a great man and he is a fair man.

He said, "I will forgive you for now but I will not forget this and you will spend all week making up for it."

I kissed his hands repeatedly and thanked him.

Thomas Friedman shook his head and said, "Bettina, I do not know what has gotten into you lately. After all I have done for you, I would think you would behave nicer to me. Do you not realize that you were living in a hut, peddling your . . ."

"Wait," I interrupted because I was dying to tell him about my dream. I know I should never interrupt Thomas Friedman. That is rule number two on the list of rules Thomas Friedman has posted on the refrigerator. But I was excited about the strange dream I had.

Thomas Friedman was asking, "Bettina, what is rule number two?"

But I was so excited, I just plowed over Thomas Friedman and said, "Thomas Friedman, I dreamed that I was not raised in a mud hut and I did not work as a sex slave. I was raised here in the United States, I worked at a Dollar Store and my name is . . ."

That is the point at which Thomas Friedman began shoving vitamins down my throat. I was gagging but grateful because Thomas Friedman explained to me that I was having a seizure and that I needed citrus very bad.

The seizure really wiped me out and I fell fast asleep. I do not remember the dream from earlier or any dream I had when I woke up. It is now after eight o'clock and I am waiting for Thomas Friedman to return.

He left me the sweetest note:

Bettina,
I have to go work now because we do not live in the lap of luxury version 3.0 on just my good looks alone though my good looks do not hurt. The other day, a taxi cab driver who came from Korea told me, "Thomas Friedamn, you could live on your good looks alone." I laughed and maybe someday. I, Thomas Friedman, and Nicholas talk to Bill Safire all the time about opening a male model agency and making us his top models. Today, it is just a dream but who knows what tomorrow will bring. Do not forget to finish washing my boxers, do not forget to take care of the ketchup packets, take out the trash, polish my shoes and that I like my prune juice freshly squeezed. See you tonight.
Your husband,
Thomas Friedman the Great
P.S. Perhaps I should not have called you an example of colonialism failure in the X-box age or Third World Gidget Goes to Ruin or maybe even not a P.M.S.ing bitch? If there's anything to make up for, feel free to help yourself to a fourth glass of water while I am gone.

Is that not the sweetest love letter you have ever read? Thomas Friedman is a great man. I am lucky to have Thomas Friedman as my husband. I should go get to work on squeezing those prunes.

Thomas Friedman, my husband, is a great man

Thomas Friedman is a great man. Thomas Friedman is a wise man. Thomas Friedman is a well endowed man.

I know these things because he has taught me to repeat them. He says my heavy accent is almost gone.

Thomas Friedman is my husband but he does not like me to repeat that. He says he is a modest man.

Thomas Friedman tells me never worry because he's "on the job."

Nicholas Kristof is a nice man. Thomas Friedman says that is enough to ever say about Nicholas Kristof because he will get "the big head."

Thomas Friedman never gets the big head. He says that is because even someone as wise as Thomas Friedman cannot appreciate all the greatness that is Thomas Friedman.

Sometimes, I forget the things that Thomas Friedman is teaching me and Thomas Friedman always gently corrects me.

Thomas Friedman says, "Bettina, I, Thomas Friedman, and Nicholas did not rescue you so you could get this wrong."

I say, "Yes, Thomas Friedman. I am sorry. Would you like to play Iraqi invasion again?"

I do not always enjoy Iraqi invasion. Sometimes he plays Saddam and makes me be Chemical Ali. I do not like that because Thomas Friedman weeps whenever he plays Saddam.

Sometimes he plays Jay Garner and makes me play Donald Rumsfeld and beat him with a coat hanger while screaming, "You are useless!"

I like that game best because it is over faster.

My husband Thomas Friedman enriches my life. I say that fifty times each day. Thomas Friedman tells me if I say that fifty times a day, I will improve my English and be much wiser.
Thomas Friedman says if I work really hard, he will let me speak sometimes in public.

Thomas Friedman is so good to me. When I am stupid, Thomas Friedman smiles and says sweetly, "Bettina, you are a stupid cow." I did not even know I was a cow until Thomas Friedman told me.

But then before Nicholas Kristof rescued me from sex slavery and brought me here, I did not even know I was a sex slave. Thomas Friedman says I have a lot to learn.

Thomas Friedman is not always serious. Many times Thomas Friedman makes me laugh. Like when he reaches orgasm and yells, "Gut check time!"

The first time that happened I said to Thomas Friedman that he yelled so loud it hurt my ears. Thomas Friedman corrected me.

"Bettina, my little struggling democracy," Thomas Friedman said, "it is amusing."

To prove it, Thomas Friedman threw his head back and laughed so loud some plaster feel from the ceiling. So I laughed too. I laughed along with my husband, the great Thomas Friedman.

I like that Thomas Friedman let's me know when something is funny. Thomas Friedman worries that I will embarrass myself if I do not laugh at each of his jokes. When we are alone, Thomas Friedman will tell me, "That is funny. You laugh now."

I will laugh in the polite chuckles he is teaching me.

But when we are in public Thomas Friedman cannot tell me when to laugh at his jokes. "Bettina, my little backward nation," Thomas Friedman says, "if I tell you to laugh, people will think you are stupid."

Thomas Friedman looks out for me. Thomas Friedman came up with a signal where he rubs the bridge of his nose after he finishes speaking to let me know to chuckle.

But one time I cackled and Thomas Friedman told me later that I destroyed the evening for everyone.

I felt so bad I even agreed to play Richard Perle and Judy Miller. When we play Iraqi invasion I do not like to play Perle because it gets very messy and I am always the one who has to clean up after.

That was a complaint and I should not complain because I have nothing to complain about. As Thomas Friedman always tells me, "You should not complain because you have nothing to complain about."

Thomas Friedman is a great man and I am very lucky to be rescued from sex slavery and be with him. I will write more about Thomas Friedman, my husband, later. But it is close to one o'clock in the morning and he likes for me to have a snack waiting for him when he gets home: soda crackers and cheese from a can. Thomas Friedman says it is a delicacy.

I do not know because soda crackers are just for Thomas Friedman and I have to learn to keep my chubby hands off them. I know this because Thomas Friedman told me, "Bettina, those soda crackers are just for me and you better keep your chubby hands off them." But you should try them because you are not married to Thomas Friedman.