“A weird combo of really funny and really insightful.” – Beta reader, male, married

I’m very excited to announce the release of my second book:

WHAT EVERY WOMAN WISHES MODERN MEN KNEW ABOUT WOMEN



This is NOT your typical relationship advice book. From the Amazon description:

Forget what magazines and movies say men should know about women. And forget the rules.

Sylvia D. Lucas, in “What Every Woman Wishes Modern Men Knew About Women,” challenges the games, the rules, and any other recommended adherence to fifties-era stereotypes in this reveal of what real, modern men should know about real, modern women. #1: We don’t want to carry your underwear.

“It helped me find out where my wife was coming from and how I should be acting in a marriage.” – Beta reader, male, married

“As it is beneficial for a man to hear, I think it’d be important for a lot of women to know that it’s perfectly normal and ‘OK’ to feel this way as well. I think I just figured it out. It’s meant to educate women, but disguised as a guide to men.” – Beta reader, male, married

“This book seems like it’s MORE than just ‘What Every Woman Wishes Modern Men Knew About Women.’ It’s more about the modern-day woman, the independent ‘we don’t need you for things, we need you for companionship, and we want you to understand we are just like you’ woman.” – Beta reader, female, married

Ch. 1 Excerpt (yes, this happened):

One Christmas a couple of boyfriends ago, my boyfriend Ted (whose name is not Ted) and I visited his family for the holiday weekend. We’d been staying at his parents’ house the first two nights, but the final night, we went to his sister’s house. She was the closest to us in emotional age, and we wanted to have a few drinks. (We didn’t do that around his very religious, born-again parents.)

That night, after dinner and a couple glasses of wine, Ted and I said goodnight and went to sleep in the spare bedroom. We woke up wine-headed and a little late the next morning, showered, packed our small suitcases, and left in our own car for a nearby restaurant where we were meeting his sister, his parents, and his nephews for an early lunch before we headed out of town.

After looking at the menu, and while we waited for the food to arrive, Ted’s sister—about 35, at the time, and Ted and I were in our mid-twenties—said from across the table, “Psst. Sylvia.”

She was leaning forward with her breasts smashed against the edge of the table. Her eyes told me to look under there.

I had a headache and really didn’t want to, but I did, and when I lifted the edge of the tablecloth, I saw a crumpled wad of striped material, blue and white, surrounded by darkness and shaking at me to take it.

“What’s that?” I said.

“They’re his,” she said, using her free and to point at her brother. “You forgot your underwear after your shower,” she tee-heed at him. “They were in the bathroom behind the door.” And to me, she said, “Here.”

Confused, I “Huh?”ed.

She used her chin to point at the table and muttered through almost-closed lips (as if it was now time to be discreet), “Tiiiik zhhe eendrrrwrrrrr.”

I looked at Ted, who was helping one of his nephews color on the children’s placemat the server had brought. “Why are you giving them to me?” I said.

“You’re his girlfriend.” The ‘Of course!’ was implied.

“So?” I said, not quite believing I was now saying in the middle of the day in a halfway decent restaurant, “They’re his underwear.”

I must have said it a little too outside-voiced, because Ted looked at me like I’d just elbowed him in the face. And then he snatched his underwear, found the pocket in his coat lying beside him in the booth, and stuffed them inside.

By the time the food came, everyone else had moved on and was having some kind of conversation about something or other, but I was distracted. Why had she tried to give me his underwear? Why was it assumed that it was my responsibility to take them? Why had no one else at the table looked at her like she was crazy?

Get it for your Kindle for just $.99 (introductory price).