You’re just going to have to take my word for it.
And why shouldn’t you?
You’ve believed cocktail waitress and stripper-types. Why not put your trust in a meager journalist out to make a buck and ride this choo-choo to Fame Town? My tale of naughty misdeeds is totally, sort of, in the realm of possibility.
Bimbos and borderline strumpets aren’t the only ones who can home-wreck, you know. I deserve to be interviewed by The New York Post, too. Unlike the other mistresses — old-school mistresses were decidedly classier — my story is not all shame and scandal. There was a sweetness that can’t be denied.
While he doesn’t seem my type — I tend to go for hundredaires — Tiger and I carried on for months or years, depending on when you ask me.
“T Money” — that’s what I decided to call Tiger cuz it sounds intimate — and I were introduced by star of stage and screen Ben Vereen after a nail biter of a miniature golf tourney.
When we weren’t rendezvousing at exotically seedy locales, T Money and I enjoyed steamy adult conversations over the telephone.
Let’s just say my point-of-view on German Chancellor Angela Merkel really brought the stripped cat out of the cage.
I am not proud of what I’ve done, but what better time than the holidays to confess my adulteress ways. At this rate, I may have a book deal by Easter.
“Mistress 15: Tales of a Sinsational Tiger Tamer” has a certain ring to it.
In said book, I will outline how, for fun, T Money and I ate Ramen noodles in his marital bed. As foreplay, we’d prank-call “Facts of Life” star Charlotte Rae. Tiger always said he was more of a Tootie girl. I’ve always seem myself more as a Jo Polniaczek.
But I do digress. The truth is that I dumped T Money. The ears and the whole him having a wife thing was a bit of a bother. Besides, while I loved Money, I never truly loved T.
My sprained heart belongs to the nightlife. I like to boogie.
No amount of sodium-based noodle soup product can change that fact.
All that said, here are my mistress demands: interviews by sundown with Diane Sawyer, Katie Couric, Meredith Vieira and acclaimed PBS broadcast journalist Charlie Rose.
I also require Popsicle brand ice pops, lottery tickets and an endless supply of Little Debbie snack cakes. I only pray that Elin might forgive me and Oprah will have me on.
Contact this columnist at (937) 225-2384 or arobinson@DaytonDailyNews.com.
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