Welcome to my recipe for disaster. On Thanksgiving Day this year my daughter will be 21. I am trying to combine a milestone birthday, a holiday, the umpteenth anniversary of my father's death and a tentacled divorce. I can't even tell you the half of it because doing so here would compromise the privacy of people close to me. I'm leaning toward Jet Blue. I will focus instead on stuffing.

My favorite stuffing story was the year I decided to make the bird at my house and transport it to my late brother Stephen's home. People were not relaxed. I was never known as the turkey girl and I that year I was going to show them! 

Everyone at the table watched in awe as my mother pulled a plastic bag of innards out of the stuffing cavity. I can still hear my brother's hysteria. This year I'm at it again...shoot me.

For decades it was my mother's Italian egg stuffing recipe. A combination of, roughly, a dozen large eggs, a handful of grated Locatelli cheese, a handful of chopped fresh Italian parsley, enough plain bread crumbs to thicken the mix till it drips off a spoon and a little salt and pepper. This then blows up inside the turkey and is absolutely delicious.

My sister-in-law Susie started going with her sausage & chestnut stuffing and my stuffing allegiance is now challenged. Actually, I am open to stuffing suggestions. Got any?

Do you know of, or are you part of, a couple who are divorcing but can't move because you can't sell your home? Please let me know immediately as we are interested in speaking to you!

Contact: [email protected]

Thank You,

Debbie Nigro,

Chief Executive Girlfriend, First Wives World

Living without a man in the house poses challenges for me when it comes to electronic stuff. Example, I got home from the Pre-Press Cocktail Party for the International Consumer Electronics Show and the TV in my bedroom was all "fuzz".

Why? I don't know. That's my point. I'm sure it was just some wire. I'm in the middle of a "decorator intervention, men with hammers who must have unplugged something when they moved the TV.

Who the heck was I going to call at 1:30 a.m. for help? OK, so I didn't go right home after the consumer electronics party.

My idea of a workable consumer electronic is my blowdryer. Oh yeah and I'm a wiz at the new iPhone which I work faster than a bookie. Beyond those however, I'm in trouble.

I can't watch a DVD unless my daughter's boyfriend is visiting, can't figure out why I'm not online unless I call one of the guys who works in my building and have three remotes that I treat like Hope Diamonds, as I live in fear of pressing the wrong button.

At the consumer electronics press party, I just glanced over shoulders at yet more cool stuff I'm not mature enough to own as long as I'm living without a man. Don't you think there should be a 24-hour consumer electronics help hotline for divorced women?

Better yet, why not a couple of 24-hour electronically gifted single, good-looking men? After all, aren't there millions of divorced guys out there with free time on their hands because no one's asking them to help with wires any more?

I think I might be onto something here. Matchmaking based on a woman's electronic needs instead of her emotional needs. Could be a hit.

A surprise decorator intervention is freaking me out.

My life since last Friday morning has been like a reality TV show without the cameras. My friend Greg, a renowned interior designer, was going to "stop by" to show me a sheer blue curtain he wanted to give me for my bedroom. Yippee, because I can only afford to be his friend not his client.

Everything about Greg (the guy on the left with the blue curtain) is beautiful. He was blessed with the "decorator gene" and I wasn't. I am "decorator challenged" and I have never been good at asking for help with this. My style, as opposed to early antique, is "Early Aunt," as in furniture given to me by Aunt Mary, Aunt Eleanor, Aunt Linda and Aunt Yolie over the years.

Never one to take advantage of friends, I have occasionally gently asked Greg for suggestions to better accommodate my space and my kamikaze lifestyle which is ruled by five billion pieces of paper. This business is growing and so are my piles which I am sick of looking at by the end of the day.

Last Friday, Greg and two guys with drills appeared unexpectedly before I had a chance to shower. I was just expecting the curtain sample. Confused and trying to get ready to leave for work, I saw my furniture fly out my door, garbage bags being filled, piles of papers being moved and I heard myself gasping, "oooo," "oooo," "wait!" probably a million times. A closet guy even showed up.

Totally freaked out, I realized this was an intervention. How can anyone complain about being saved by a decorator? But seriously, I wasn't prepared, and people messing with your "stuff" is no light matter.

I know I should be grateful that my junk cabinet now features organized stemware but honestly I can't find my underwear and I have to make the train. They're coming back today. To be continued.

It goes without saying that if you're a divorced, single mom there will be days, because of everything you're juggling, that you think you're losing your marbles. Me, I lost my fruit.

A couple of days ago I went to the store and bought some containers of hot food and one filled with fresh fruit. That same day I also went to Target and bought some "almost clear" plastic storage bins. When I got out of the car, I put the food inside the bins to carry into my house. When I got into the house, I took out the food and put it away and left the bins.

Day before yesterday I was driving and remembered I bought fruit but had no idea where it went. Yesterday, I finally moved the plastic bins from my living room to my bedroom and noticed a white plastic bag that was leaking. Much to my surprise, I found the fruit. The fruit went in the garbage, the plastic bin went into my shower and I still have no fresh fruit.

Leave it to my aunts to make me feel eight years old again.

Ever since I was a little girl, my father's sisters have always made me feel like Cinderella. There were four sisters and four brothers on my Dad's side. Family gatherings always involved loads of commotion and my aunts were always larger than life--more raucous and fun than other people's aunts.

From the day I was born, they attended every recital and celebration imaginable and have never forgotten to send a card or a gift. They've always been bright lights in my life. My mom and my aunts appear in the picture here. From the left: my Mom, Aunt Linda, Aunt Yolanda (Yolie) Me and Aunt Eleanor.

They all held a special birthday gathering for me the other night. My mom is a sweetheart and was only 48 when my Dad died at 55. Aunt Linda, my father's youngest sister, was divorced with three kids back when it was unheard of. She started a new career in her 40's that led her to become the No. 1 salesperson in the country for Thomasville Galleries Furniture. Need a couch?

Aunt Yolanda married Uncle Mike, a fabulous and handsome businessman who has since passed away. She was always a class act and still has no wrinkles, has great legs, impeccable taste and a big heart.

To the right of me, is Aunt Eleanor, who was my first boss. She ran the office for the family road construction company. I remember the day I took the call from a guy named Ed and put him on hold to see if she wanted to say she was in. They're married 26 years. Aunt Mary, the fourth aunt, is sadly gone. She was the best. She babysat for my daughter so I could work with peace of mind and loved happy hours up until she was 70. I swear I have her party girl DNA.

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