I call this look Mona, the Southern California housewife who is sleeping with her tennis instructor (and the gardener, that one time)
Mona met her husband, Tripp, in business school (USC). She spent three years at McKinsey in LA before Tripp convinced her that, with the baby coming and all, it would be best to have a parent at home full-time. Tripp never told Mona this, but he didn’t really care. His mother Bitsy, however, threatened to write him out of the will if her grandchildren were raised by a nanny. Tripp’s family connections make him very valuable at the small hedge fund he joined after b-school, where he now spends about 80 hours a week. He travels a lot to check on the fund’s investments in China and Brazil.
Now that both kids have finally hit school age, Mona spends her days playing tennis, organizing charity lunches, and, more recently, bundling money for Republican causes in California. She’s often bored, so to entertain herself she spent the winter flirting with James, the 25-year-old tennis pro at the club. It turned out that James was also bored, so the two now entertain themselves twice a week in James’s dumpy two-bedroom apartment. Mona comes over on Tuesdays and Thursdays after she has dropped the kids off at school and James’s roommate has waked, baked, and left for work. Mona likes James because he enjoys eating her out — something Tripp hasn’t done since their wedding night. Afterwards, they smoke a little weed and head to the club (in separate cars), where she has a 90 minute lesson.
After her Tuesday lesson, Mona has lunch with Jenna, Eleanor, and Greer. They talk about their children and their mothers-in-law. Mona always smiles and laughs her way through a spinach salad with dressing on the side — they are all generous donors to her causes — but she hates all of them.
She’s counting the days until her ten year anniversary (just 981 left), when she will file for divorce, take her alimony, and move to Palm Springs.
Meanwhile, she intends to become very good at tennis.