Monthly Archives: February 2018

Love Your Pet Day (Books for Dog Lovers)

by Kassandra Lamb

Here’s this “off” week’s something interesting… Did you know that today is “Love Your Pet” Day?

I’ve recently joined a group of authors who write books with dogs in them. Here’s this month’s collection (romances and mysteries), some of which are on sale or free. Some sales end today; some begin today, so jump on over to the landing page to check them out.

promo graphic

We blog here at misterio press about twice a month, usually on Tuesdays. Sometimes we talk about serious topics, and sometimes we just have some fun.

Please follow us so you don’t miss out on any of the interesting stuff, or the fun! (We do not lend, sell nor otherwise bend, spindle or mutilate followers’ e-mail addresses. 🙂 )

Beta Men Make the Best Husbands

by Kassandra Lamb

Hubs and I will be celebrating our 42nd Valentine’s Day this week. I’m not sure he’s even aware of this but Valentine’s Day is a particularly special day for our relationship. You see, I decided I could marry this man on the first Valentine’s Day we celebrated together. (It took him another 2 ½ weeks to catch on and actually propose.)

I’ve been writing some romantic suspense stories lately, and I recently took a little informal survey of my romantic suspense readers. One of the questions I asked was how important was it to them that the hero be an alpha male, and also I asked for their definition of an alpha male.

The split was about 65% yes, it had to be an alpha, and 35% said they didn’t care or preferred a beta male.

Most defined an alpha as strong, confident, and protective, but they didn’t like it if he was too controlling, cocky or arrogant. My favorite comment was this one:

“The hero doesn’t have to be an alpha necessarily, but when his woman is in danger, he needs to step up and do what needs to be done.”

Now, back to my husband and Valentine’s Day. I suspect my husband would be the first to admit that he is not an alpha male. He’s a fairly quiet, go-with-the-flow kind of guy, an excellent complement to my rather intense personality. Indeed, he is probably the only kind of man I could still be married to after 41 years!

I normally have no trouble standing up for myself. But the few times in my life when I couldn’t do that, for one reason or another, he was there. He stepped up. The first time was on that first Valentine’s Day. We’d been dating four months.

He’d made an 8:30 reservation at a relatively swanky restaurant in downtown Baltimore. We arrived on time and were seated in a little waiting area with quite a few other couples. Someone came by periodically and assured us that it would just be another few minutes.

By 10 o’clock we still hadn’t been seated. I was literally weak with hunger. It was a revolving restaurant on the top of a high-rise hotel. By this point, I was feeling quite queasy as the city slowly spun below us.

My then boyfriend went to the maitre d’ and complained for the second or third time. Ten minutes later we were led to our table and he said to the waiter, “Bring us house salads right away.” The waiter dropped a salad in front of me just a few minutes later.

wedge of lettuce

Gee, doesn’t that look yummy! 😛

It was a quarter wedge of iceberg lettuce with some dressing drizzled over it. I looked at it and said, “I don’t think I have the energy to cut that up.”

Hubs aka then-boyfriend exploded. He called over the maitre d’. “You kept us waiting one and half hours after our reservation time, and now this…” He pointed to the green wedge on my plate. “What kind of salad is that?”

In a huffy voice, the man said, “That is the way salad is served in finer restaurants.”

Hubs aka then-boyfriend straightened to his full six-foot, 26-year-old lanky height and said, “Sir, I’ve been in finer restaurants before, and I’ve never seen a salad like that. Bring my girlfriend a real salad NOW!”

That was the I-could-marry-this-man moment. (Note: I’ve since seen that kind of salad a couple of times in other restaurants, but only a couple of times.)

About 30 seconds later, a waiter brought a tossed salad, with bite-sized pieces of lettuce, cherry tomatoes and slivers of carrots. I devoured it in another 30 seconds and felt much better.

Fast forward three and a half years and I have been in labor for 23 hours. Seventeen of them mild labor and six hard labor (by my definition, as in very painful). And something had changed. It was no longer muscle contraction pain. It was a sledge hammer pounding on your foot kind of pain. My gut, at least partly educated by Lamaze classes, said this was not normal.

But the resident doctors kept insisting I was “still in the early stages” and it wasn’t time yet to call my private obstetrician into the hospital. I won’t go into all the gory details of my interchanges with them, but when one of them told me, “Childbirth is supposed to be painful. Lie down, shut up and relax,” I’d had enough. (Yup, that’s what she said and yup, it was a woman—obviously one who had not yet given birth.)

Immediately after the next contraction, I said to my husband, through gritted teeth, “Get our %&*%^$ doctor here! And get back here before the next contraction!” He’d been rubbing my back during them, the only thing that made them bearable.

He raced out of the labor room, tossed his paper gown (he told me this part later) at the woman at the nurses’ station when she yelled, “You can’t go out there; you’re sterile,” and ran to the waiting room where my mother was. He quickly filled her in, asked her to call our doctor, raced back into the maternity ward, donned a fresh gown and was back by my side just as the next contraction started.

Our doctor arrived about fifteen minutes (and way too many excruciating contractions) later. He started bawling out my husband for “letting your mother-in-law sit out there and worry unnecessarily.” But we quickly filled him in on what the residents had not been reporting to him.

(Note: try not to give birth in a teaching hospital. I’m sure some resident doctors are lovely people, but others think they know more than they do!)

baby and grandmother

My mother and her new grandson

To make a long story short, our son was born at 3:46 a.m., about four hours after my husband’s heroic dash through the maternity ward.

(The next day, my doctor explained that I’d had a “stiff cervix” that wasn’t dilating… not a big deal, it happens sometimes with first births, blah, blah. Yeah, easy for you to say, Doc!)

My husband has performed his own brand of protective intervention on a few other occasions as well, but those are the two that stand out most in my memory.

So I’m sorry, romance readers, but my heroes are the beta males who know how to step up when needed. And in the real world, they make much better Happily-Ever-After husbands than those dark, troubled alpha types.

Happy Valentine's Day

Posted by Kassandra Lamb. Kass is a retired psychotherapist turned mystery writer. She is the author of the Kate Huntington psychological mysteries, set in her native Maryland, and the Marcia Banks and Buddy cozy mysteries, set in Central Florida.

We blog here at misterio press about twice a month, usually on Tuesdays. Sometimes we talk about serious topics, and sometimes we just have some fun.

Please follow us so you don’t miss out on any of the interesting stuff, or the fun! (We do not lend, sell nor otherwise bend, spindle or mutilate followers’ e-mail addresses. 🙂 )

A Fun Book For You: Life Begins When The Kids Leave Home (And The Dog Dies)

by Kassandra Lamb

Here’s your fun and/or interesting thing for our “off” week here at the misterio press blog. One of my fave people and one of the funniest women alive, IMHO, has written a humor book:  Life Begins When The Kids Leave Home And The Dog Dies.

Being a dog lover (and I knew she’s one too) I wasn’t too sure about the last part of the title, but she reassured me that it is from an old joke:

A priest, a minister and a rabbi were talking about when life begins. The priest said: “Life begins at conception.” The minister said: “Life begins when the fetus is viable.” The rabbi said: “Life begins when the kids leave home and the dog dies.”

Here is my review of her book, and below is an excerpt:

book coverFive stars!

This book needs to come with a humor warning! “Caution: Do Not Eat Or Drink While Reading This Book! You will spew food or liquid everywhere when you laugh out loud.”

Barb Taub is the new Erma Bombeck in my opinion. I’ve followed her blog for a long time and she never ceases to make me smile. This book is a collection of her columns for publications and blog posts from over the years. Every chapter will have you laughing at Barb’s unique take on life.

 

Excerpt from Chapter 13: How To Embarrass Your Child

I went to a socially-impaired university. It was a time of revolution and experimentation with sex, drugs, music among kids: in other words, it was just like today. But the University of Chicago’s claim to “The Life of the Mind” reassured parents. Fathers of teenage daughters thought the mind was a lot safer place to live than where they remembered spending their college years, “The Life of the Party”.

We had friends from other colleges who had social lives and arrest records, so we knew what we were missing. And it wasn’t as though we didn’t try. We’d stay up all night or even close out the college’s only bar, Jimmy’s, discussing the eternal questions:

  • Is there a God?
  • How do you get rid of roaches?
  • Who’s got the $10 for the muggers on the way home?
  • How can I make the world more fair?
  • Why am I here?

I was lucky. I didn’t get mugged (that often); the stitches didn’t scar (much); I did graduate (eventually). And, after all these years, I’ve answered all the questions:

  • There is a God and She has a sense of humor. It’s the only possible explanation for Chicago politics and for two-year-olds.
  • The only way to get rid of roaches is to move out. Or get a divorce.
  • You still need $10 for the trip home because the child who has refused to eat for the whole trip will announce that she is going to die from hunger if you don’t stop at Chez Mac’s.
  • I don’t care if it’s not fair: I’m the mother and I say so.
  • I am here to embarrass and torture my children.

Amateur parents may be concerned about this last requirement. How could you ever embarrass your children? Don’t worry. Not only will you discover just how much fun it is to mess with their little heads, but you won’t have to actually do a thing to achieve it. As soon as your child turns ten, there will be a few things about you which they will find embarrassing, such as your car, your appearance, your clothes, your habit of speaking to them in public, your very existence…

AVAILABLE at:   AMAZON US     AMAZON UK

pic of Barb Taub

And here’s Barb’s bio:

In halcyon days BC (before children), Barb Taub wrote a humor column for several Midwest newspapers. With the arrival of Child #4, she veered toward the dark side (an HR career). Following a daring daytime escape to England, she’s lived in a medieval castle, a hobbit house, and on a Scottish isle with her prince-of-a-guy and the World’s Most Spoiled Aussie Dog. Considering all her days are now Saturdays, Barb is amazed that this is her sixth book.

You can find out more about Barb and her Null City series (which I love) at her website, on Facebook or Goodreads or tweet at her @BarbTaub.

Tune in next week for my thoughts on Valentine’s Day!

We blog here at misterio press about twice a month, usually on Tuesdays. Sometimes we talk about serious topics, and sometimes we just have some fun.

Please follow us so you don’t miss out on any of the interesting stuff, or the fun! (We do not lend, sell nor otherwise bend, spindle or mutilate followers’ e-mail addresses. 🙂 )