Maria and I had our annual pre-Open House argument this morning about who is the bigger Prima Donna, me or her. “I may be bad,” she said “but you are the worst. You are Prima Donna The Worst!” We both nearly choked laughing at this description, and I sputtered some denials, but I can’t say it doesn’t fit. I can see it on my tombstone, or more likely, on a hanging piece made of my recycled underpants and socks (she has already stolen many pairs of my shirts and jeans, they disappear constantly) and sold for $20.

I think I might try and get a sweat-shirt with the title printed on the back, like one of those jackets governors wear during storms or FBI agents wear on raids. Or maybe a cap.

“Oh yeah,”  I said, trying to recoup, “well you are Prima Donna The FIrst!” I’ve always thought artists are worse whiners than writers, but Maria is convinced writers are worse whiners and complainers than artists. She listed all of the things I complain about in my writing life – editors, agents, reviewers, publishers, readers, copy editors, lawyers, online advice-givers,  competitors, my sales, my place in history. It is pretty impressive when you hear it listed in that way.

Then I listed all of the things she complains about when she has an art show – the placement of things, cost, the attitudes of some of the artists, what people will pay, space, time, hard work. It is also pretty impressive, but somehow it wasn’t as long or as deep as my list of whines and complaints. Of course, I told her, I have been doing this for more than 30 years, and I am, after all, a venerable author, a five-time New York Times Bestseller. (This sends her nearly climbing up the chimney, it gets her sputtering and stomping her little artist feet.)

Still, Prima Donna The Worst is a great title, it is better than Prima Donna The First and every time I think of it, I have to laugh. I can’t say it is not true. It is good to know yourself. Another argument lost. I remember the advice a wise and happily married man gave me shortly after Maria and I got married. “The most important words in any marriage,” he said, “are: you’re probably right, dear.”

Prima Donna The Worst. You’re probably right, dear.