Look: I'm not judging fat people, okay? Some very cool people also happen to be fat. It doesn't make them any less cool. So DON'T use this rule of thumb to judge other people. Only use it to judge yourself.
Here's the rule of thumb.
Get buck naked, like in the shower. Stand up straight. Now bend your neck and tip your head down, so your chin is touching your chest. Look straight down.
CHICKS: If your belly sticks out further than your tits, you're too fat.
DUDES: If you can't see your (relaxed) dick cuz your belly is in the way, you're too fat.
This works for all body types, and all sizes and shapes. All of the exceptions you can think of? They don't matter. If this rule of thumb tells you you're too fat, and you disagree, then go try the Body Mass Index (BMI) Calculator at http://www.bmi-calculator.net/. It'll tell you the same thing - every time.
Showing posts with label women. Show all posts
Showing posts with label women. Show all posts
Saturday, July 21, 2018
Thursday, October 5, 2017
Restraining Order
She was studying at her desk when a movement outside the window caught her eye. She looked up to see a blue Kia parking at the end of the driveway.
Her blood went cold, and her heart clenched - the fight-or-flight reaction. It happened every time he showed up in her life.
She hadn't felt it that first Sunday, when he introduced himself, all smiles and charm. But an hour later, she had had her first sense of it when he had barged into a conversation she was having with her best friends, as if he were already part of the group and there was something between him and her.
There was was nothing between him and her - nothing except aggressive pursuit on his side, and fear and fleeing on her side. He used to text her constantly, and call her at odd hours, even though she told him not to. She put an end to that by blocking his number. Then he would text and call her friends, asking them to deliver messages to her, until they learned to block his number too.
He friended her on Facebook, and then filled her feed with bogus declarations of gratitude for their real-life friendship, compliments about her looks, and suggestive come-ons. She ended up unfriending him, blocking him, and reporting him to Facebook. She went through her feed and deleted everything he had ever written. Some of her friends also unfriended him and blocked him, but not all of them - so he could still keep tabs on her by stalking those unblocked friends.
Somehow he found out her class schedule, and he would wait for her outside the classroom. If she came out surrounded by a group of friends, which she did increasingly often, as physical protection, he would somehow force his way into the circle, try to hook his arm in hers or wrap his arm around her, and steer her out of the circle. More than once, her friends had to trip him or almost wrestle with him to break his hold - and he still tagged along.
If she studied late, and went to the parking garage after dark, he would be standing next to her car, waiting for her. He would engage her in conversation, and wouldn't stop until she said, "Um, I have to go ...", got in the car, and drove away. Sometimes he managed to maneuver in front of the driver's door, so she couldn't unlock or open it. Whenever that happened, she would walk over to the passenger door, get in that way, and crawl across the console. It was awkward and embarrassing, but he didn't seem to notice - or care. But she would shake all the way home, her eyes scanning the rear-view mirror.
When she and her friends went to the gym, he would be over on the weight machines, flexing and eyeing her.
She told her professors about him, and she reported him to campus security, but he hadn't done anything illegal (yet), so they couldn't do anything. Basically, they told her "You're a big girl; you deal with it."
She hadn't really wanted to go to the school's fall social, but her friends had talked her into it, and there was a good local band playing, so she had given in. The entire floor of the sports arena had been turned into an old-fashioned harvest festival, with bobbing for apples, fresh hot donuts and cider, pumpkin carving contests, everything but Halloween costumes. The Halloween party would be in another three weeks, but she wasn't planning on going.
She parked her car and walked in. As she entered the gym, her friend Liz caught her and gave her the customary I'm-glad-you're-here squeal and hug. But they hadn't gotten past the folded-up bleachers when she got a text from Alli: "Carl spotted you. RUN!!!" Her blood froze, her heart clenched, and her face twisted into a mask of fear.
Liz asked, "What's wrong?" She turned and showed Liz the text. Liz pushed her towards the door, and said in that faux-calm voice that some people are gifted with: "Go. I'll stop him." She didn't move. Liz turned towards the gym and saw him, running through the crowd, about halfway across the arena floor. "Go! Now! Here he comes!"
Instantly, the adrenaline hit, and she flew out the door and sprinted to her car. She got in, locked the door, started the car and put it in Reverse. Before she could start moving, there was a rattling of her door handle and then fists pounding on her window, and a man's voice shouting "Stop! I need to talk to you!"
Without looking at him, she shook her head vehemently and stomped on the gas, kicking up dirt and grass as the car jumped backwards. As she shifted to Drive, she was secretly hoping that he would jump in the way, to try to stop her in one direction or the other, so she could run over him. But he didn't. She did see him running after her, yelling something she couldn't hear.
She was aware that her purse was still wrapped around her, and that her seat belt was still undone, but she was too busy concentrating on getting away, and trying to see the dark roads through her freely flowing tears. She thought someone was following her, but if they were, they stopped about eight miles from home, so she wrote it off as paranoia.
She called her favorite uncle to ask for his advice. He lived 2100 miles away, but sometimes when she talked to him, it was like he was right next door. And she felt more comfortable talking to him about some things than even her parents.
After she hung up, she still couldn't sleep. So she stayed up all night, drinking hot chocolate and watching chick flicks. Her body finally gave out at 5 in the morning.
After three hours of sleep, she took her uncle's advice and called the police department. After they explained her options to her, she showered, dressed, and drove to the main office. A desk officer, a cross between a kindly grandmother and Gal Gadot's Wonder Woman, sat with her and helped her fill out the paperwork for a restraining order. Then they went next door to the judge's office, where the judge approved it.
She drove home, feeling relieved, like she finally had some control over her life again. But there was one little problem, a problem which sat like a persistent remnant of an ice cube, in her heart. Her address was on the restraining order. So if he hadn't already figured out where she lived, he knew now.
So when his car appeared in her cul-de-sac three days later, all of that fear came rushing back. At first, she thought, Why did I even bother getting that restraining order? Then, just as her uncle had told her, she started getting mad. How dare he run my life like this? Who does he think he is, making me run away like a scared bunny all the time? Is he too dense to take no for an answer? I guess it's time for me to enforce my own restraining order.
When she had gotten home from the police department, she had done like Kevin in Home Alone, and inventoried her house for anything that would work as a weapon. In her dad's workshop in the garage, she had found a couple of sledgehammers. She had swung them around, and decided that she could handle the one with the long yellow handle and the 8-pound head. She had also found a Boy Scout machete. Did the Boy Scouts really have machetes? Her dad said that he had gotten it when he was a kid, and yes, it had been in the Scout catalog for several years.
Her uncle had suggested that she figure out some offensive and defensive moves with the hammer, and so she had snuck down to the basement and gotten sweaty swinging it around and trying stuff on her dad's punching bag.
Her silly uncle called it "Hammer Fu". That made her smile.
When the doorbell started ringing, she jumped up out of her chair and ran downstairs, managing to hide herself from view. She heard him rattle the doorknob and then start knocking loudly on the door. Just before she stepped into the garage, she heard him yell "Katrina! Come on out, we need to talk!" For a moment, she felt a shiver of fear, but then anger pushed the fear aside.
She had had enough.
In the garage, she dialed 911, gave her name and address, and said in one of those frighteningly calm voices, "There's a man outside my house, trying to get in. He's not my boyfriend, he's a stalker. I have a restraining order. I'm afraid he's going to hurt me. Please send help." Then, without disconnecting the call, she stuffed the phone in her bra so that the microphone was free. She grabbed the machete off the workbench and stuck it in her waistband along her spine, then picked up the sledgehammer and stepped out the door on the side of the house.
She was pissed.
Holding the hammer in both hands like she intended to use it, she marched around the side of the house and along the far side of the driveway, eyes focused on the Kia, but very aware of Carl's location. He was still pounding on the door, yelling "Katrina! Katrina! Come on, you owe this to me!"
I don't owe you anything.
She wasn't hiding from him, but he was so focused on the door that he didn't know she was outside until he heard the sound of breaking glass. He spun around to see her winding up for a second blow on his windshield. He ran towards the car, yelling, "Katrina! Stop it!" as the hammer came down.
He was too late to stop the third blow. The head of the hammer cracked the unbreakable plastic headlight cover on the right side into three pieces, and then without stopping, shattered the xenon bulbs of his right headlight assembly. He grabbed her right arm and yelled "Stop it!"
That's assault, right there.
She said exactly what her uncle had told her to say. She had been practicing it for two days. "Ow! Let go of me! You're hurting me!"
As she said it, she spun to the right, backswinging the hammer, and struck him full-force on the wrist. The hammerhead compressed his blood vessels, his tendons, and most importantly, the nerves in his carpal tunnel, causing his hand to go numb and breaking his grip instantly. It was his turn to say "Ow!"
Now they were facing each other. In less time than it takes to describe it, she shifted her grip so that she was holding the hammer vertical, with the head down, both hands together near the butt of the handle, and she drove it straight down, into his instep, focused on literally driving his foot into the pavement.
Hammer Fu.
She didn't think she broke any bones, but she definitely damaged soft tissue, and the foot was instantly too painful to use. He hopped on one foot, and reached out to grab her arms to steady himself. She instantly shifted her grip on the hammer, holding it horizontally and backwards. The head was in her right hand, behind her hip. Her left hand held the handle, with the butt pointed at his stomach. She stepped forward, driving the handle deep into his solar plexus.
Sometimes the best defense is a good offense.
He fell against the car, grunting and moaning inarticulately. She used that time to walk around him towards the other headlight. As she wound up to hit it, she remembered her uncle's advice and yelled, "You're not supposed to be here!" WHAM! "You're violating a restraining order! You attacked me!" POW! After two hits, the headlight was gone, and the underlying metal was mangled.
Leaning on the hood, he maneuvered around the front of the car towards her. She moved to the back of the car. She felt a twinge of guilt, looking at the taillight LEDs, but then the anger shoved the guilt aside. As the taillight assembly disintegrated under the hammer's blow, she yelled, "Get in your car and get out of here!"
He held onto the driver's door handle, balancing on one foot, still gasping for breath, but otherwise not moving. What was he waiting for? Was he trying to think of what to say next? Or his next move?
Keep moving, girl.
"Now, asshole!" The hammerhead went into the driver's side door, inches from his kneecap. Then she threw the sledgehammer aside, reached behind her, and pulled out the machete. "If you don't leave, your tires get it next."
Asshole.
Nobody had ever heard Katrina say a word like "asshole" before. She was so clean and pure, "stupid" was probably the fiercest word anybody had ever heard her say. It startled her as much as it startled him - but it had the desired effect. He pulled open the door and dived in, started the car and put it in Reverse. For just an instant, time stopped.
Gee, this feels familiar. Except last time, that was me and this was him.
She pounded loudly on his window with the machete's handle - just for fun. Without looking at her, he twisted the steering wheel and stomped on the gas, the tires squealing and laying twin black stripes on the pavement as the car spun around. But she didn't run after him as he shifted into Drive and raced out of the cul-de-sac and down the street. Instead, she stood and watched as a police car, lights flashing, cut in front of him, just a block away.
She heard a voice from her bra saying "Hello? Hello? Ma'am? Are you okay?" Breathing heavily, she reached in, pulled out her phone, and put it to her ear. "Yes, I'm okay now."
That's how I enforce a restraining order.
Her blood went cold, and her heart clenched - the fight-or-flight reaction. It happened every time he showed up in her life.
She hadn't felt it that first Sunday, when he introduced himself, all smiles and charm. But an hour later, she had had her first sense of it when he had barged into a conversation she was having with her best friends, as if he were already part of the group and there was something between him and her.
There was was nothing between him and her - nothing except aggressive pursuit on his side, and fear and fleeing on her side. He used to text her constantly, and call her at odd hours, even though she told him not to. She put an end to that by blocking his number. Then he would text and call her friends, asking them to deliver messages to her, until they learned to block his number too.
He friended her on Facebook, and then filled her feed with bogus declarations of gratitude for their real-life friendship, compliments about her looks, and suggestive come-ons. She ended up unfriending him, blocking him, and reporting him to Facebook. She went through her feed and deleted everything he had ever written. Some of her friends also unfriended him and blocked him, but not all of them - so he could still keep tabs on her by stalking those unblocked friends.
Somehow he found out her class schedule, and he would wait for her outside the classroom. If she came out surrounded by a group of friends, which she did increasingly often, as physical protection, he would somehow force his way into the circle, try to hook his arm in hers or wrap his arm around her, and steer her out of the circle. More than once, her friends had to trip him or almost wrestle with him to break his hold - and he still tagged along.
If she studied late, and went to the parking garage after dark, he would be standing next to her car, waiting for her. He would engage her in conversation, and wouldn't stop until she said, "Um, I have to go ...", got in the car, and drove away. Sometimes he managed to maneuver in front of the driver's door, so she couldn't unlock or open it. Whenever that happened, she would walk over to the passenger door, get in that way, and crawl across the console. It was awkward and embarrassing, but he didn't seem to notice - or care. But she would shake all the way home, her eyes scanning the rear-view mirror.
When she and her friends went to the gym, he would be over on the weight machines, flexing and eyeing her.
She told her professors about him, and she reported him to campus security, but he hadn't done anything illegal (yet), so they couldn't do anything. Basically, they told her "You're a big girl; you deal with it."
She hadn't really wanted to go to the school's fall social, but her friends had talked her into it, and there was a good local band playing, so she had given in. The entire floor of the sports arena had been turned into an old-fashioned harvest festival, with bobbing for apples, fresh hot donuts and cider, pumpkin carving contests, everything but Halloween costumes. The Halloween party would be in another three weeks, but she wasn't planning on going.
She parked her car and walked in. As she entered the gym, her friend Liz caught her and gave her the customary I'm-glad-you're-here squeal and hug. But they hadn't gotten past the folded-up bleachers when she got a text from Alli: "Carl spotted you. RUN!!!" Her blood froze, her heart clenched, and her face twisted into a mask of fear.
Liz asked, "What's wrong?" She turned and showed Liz the text. Liz pushed her towards the door, and said in that faux-calm voice that some people are gifted with: "Go. I'll stop him." She didn't move. Liz turned towards the gym and saw him, running through the crowd, about halfway across the arena floor. "Go! Now! Here he comes!"
Instantly, the adrenaline hit, and she flew out the door and sprinted to her car. She got in, locked the door, started the car and put it in Reverse. Before she could start moving, there was a rattling of her door handle and then fists pounding on her window, and a man's voice shouting "Stop! I need to talk to you!"
Without looking at him, she shook her head vehemently and stomped on the gas, kicking up dirt and grass as the car jumped backwards. As she shifted to Drive, she was secretly hoping that he would jump in the way, to try to stop her in one direction or the other, so she could run over him. But he didn't. She did see him running after her, yelling something she couldn't hear.
She was aware that her purse was still wrapped around her, and that her seat belt was still undone, but she was too busy concentrating on getting away, and trying to see the dark roads through her freely flowing tears. She thought someone was following her, but if they were, they stopped about eight miles from home, so she wrote it off as paranoia.
She called her favorite uncle to ask for his advice. He lived 2100 miles away, but sometimes when she talked to him, it was like he was right next door. And she felt more comfortable talking to him about some things than even her parents.
After she hung up, she still couldn't sleep. So she stayed up all night, drinking hot chocolate and watching chick flicks. Her body finally gave out at 5 in the morning.
After three hours of sleep, she took her uncle's advice and called the police department. After they explained her options to her, she showered, dressed, and drove to the main office. A desk officer, a cross between a kindly grandmother and Gal Gadot's Wonder Woman, sat with her and helped her fill out the paperwork for a restraining order. Then they went next door to the judge's office, where the judge approved it.
She drove home, feeling relieved, like she finally had some control over her life again. But there was one little problem, a problem which sat like a persistent remnant of an ice cube, in her heart. Her address was on the restraining order. So if he hadn't already figured out where she lived, he knew now.
So when his car appeared in her cul-de-sac three days later, all of that fear came rushing back. At first, she thought, Why did I even bother getting that restraining order? Then, just as her uncle had told her, she started getting mad. How dare he run my life like this? Who does he think he is, making me run away like a scared bunny all the time? Is he too dense to take no for an answer? I guess it's time for me to enforce my own restraining order.
When she had gotten home from the police department, she had done like Kevin in Home Alone, and inventoried her house for anything that would work as a weapon. In her dad's workshop in the garage, she had found a couple of sledgehammers. She had swung them around, and decided that she could handle the one with the long yellow handle and the 8-pound head. She had also found a Boy Scout machete. Did the Boy Scouts really have machetes? Her dad said that he had gotten it when he was a kid, and yes, it had been in the Scout catalog for several years.
Her uncle had suggested that she figure out some offensive and defensive moves with the hammer, and so she had snuck down to the basement and gotten sweaty swinging it around and trying stuff on her dad's punching bag.
Her silly uncle called it "Hammer Fu". That made her smile.
When the doorbell started ringing, she jumped up out of her chair and ran downstairs, managing to hide herself from view. She heard him rattle the doorknob and then start knocking loudly on the door. Just before she stepped into the garage, she heard him yell "Katrina! Come on out, we need to talk!" For a moment, she felt a shiver of fear, but then anger pushed the fear aside.
She had had enough.
In the garage, she dialed 911, gave her name and address, and said in one of those frighteningly calm voices, "There's a man outside my house, trying to get in. He's not my boyfriend, he's a stalker. I have a restraining order. I'm afraid he's going to hurt me. Please send help." Then, without disconnecting the call, she stuffed the phone in her bra so that the microphone was free. She grabbed the machete off the workbench and stuck it in her waistband along her spine, then picked up the sledgehammer and stepped out the door on the side of the house.
She was pissed.
Holding the hammer in both hands like she intended to use it, she marched around the side of the house and along the far side of the driveway, eyes focused on the Kia, but very aware of Carl's location. He was still pounding on the door, yelling "Katrina! Katrina! Come on, you owe this to me!"
I don't owe you anything.
She wasn't hiding from him, but he was so focused on the door that he didn't know she was outside until he heard the sound of breaking glass. He spun around to see her winding up for a second blow on his windshield. He ran towards the car, yelling, "Katrina! Stop it!" as the hammer came down.
He was too late to stop the third blow. The head of the hammer cracked the unbreakable plastic headlight cover on the right side into three pieces, and then without stopping, shattered the xenon bulbs of his right headlight assembly. He grabbed her right arm and yelled "Stop it!"
That's assault, right there.
She said exactly what her uncle had told her to say. She had been practicing it for two days. "Ow! Let go of me! You're hurting me!"
As she said it, she spun to the right, backswinging the hammer, and struck him full-force on the wrist. The hammerhead compressed his blood vessels, his tendons, and most importantly, the nerves in his carpal tunnel, causing his hand to go numb and breaking his grip instantly. It was his turn to say "Ow!"
Now they were facing each other. In less time than it takes to describe it, she shifted her grip so that she was holding the hammer vertical, with the head down, both hands together near the butt of the handle, and she drove it straight down, into his instep, focused on literally driving his foot into the pavement.
Hammer Fu.
She didn't think she broke any bones, but she definitely damaged soft tissue, and the foot was instantly too painful to use. He hopped on one foot, and reached out to grab her arms to steady himself. She instantly shifted her grip on the hammer, holding it horizontally and backwards. The head was in her right hand, behind her hip. Her left hand held the handle, with the butt pointed at his stomach. She stepped forward, driving the handle deep into his solar plexus.
Sometimes the best defense is a good offense.
He fell against the car, grunting and moaning inarticulately. She used that time to walk around him towards the other headlight. As she wound up to hit it, she remembered her uncle's advice and yelled, "You're not supposed to be here!" WHAM! "You're violating a restraining order! You attacked me!" POW! After two hits, the headlight was gone, and the underlying metal was mangled.
Leaning on the hood, he maneuvered around the front of the car towards her. She moved to the back of the car. She felt a twinge of guilt, looking at the taillight LEDs, but then the anger shoved the guilt aside. As the taillight assembly disintegrated under the hammer's blow, she yelled, "Get in your car and get out of here!"
He held onto the driver's door handle, balancing on one foot, still gasping for breath, but otherwise not moving. What was he waiting for? Was he trying to think of what to say next? Or his next move?
Keep moving, girl.
"Now, asshole!" The hammerhead went into the driver's side door, inches from his kneecap. Then she threw the sledgehammer aside, reached behind her, and pulled out the machete. "If you don't leave, your tires get it next."
Asshole.
Nobody had ever heard Katrina say a word like "asshole" before. She was so clean and pure, "stupid" was probably the fiercest word anybody had ever heard her say. It startled her as much as it startled him - but it had the desired effect. He pulled open the door and dived in, started the car and put it in Reverse. For just an instant, time stopped.
Gee, this feels familiar. Except last time, that was me and this was him.
She pounded loudly on his window with the machete's handle - just for fun. Without looking at her, he twisted the steering wheel and stomped on the gas, the tires squealing and laying twin black stripes on the pavement as the car spun around. But she didn't run after him as he shifted into Drive and raced out of the cul-de-sac and down the street. Instead, she stood and watched as a police car, lights flashing, cut in front of him, just a block away.
She heard a voice from her bra saying "Hello? Hello? Ma'am? Are you okay?" Breathing heavily, she reached in, pulled out her phone, and put it to her ear. "Yes, I'm okay now."
That's how I enforce a restraining order.
Sunday, August 27, 2017
Yet another warning to women: Stop arguing!
Ladies! Haven't we talked about this already? Apparently it hasn't sunk in yet, because you're still being assholes to your men.
(And guys, this is for you too, since way too many of you are still being assholes to your women.)
Why are you still arguing with the person you're supposed to love the most in your life? Why are you correcting them, arguing them, even interrupting them to do so? Why do you do it every time they open their mouths to speak?
Let me illustrate with a couple of episodes. These are real. Only the names have been changed.
---
EPISODE 1: The Texting Conversation
Your spouse or significant other just had an exciting text conversation with somebody, and they're dying to tell you about it. So they say "I just swapped a bunch of texts with Amanda Martinez," and they start telling you about it.
After a couple of sentences, you interrupt them: "Martinez ...?"
They answer, "Yeah ..."
This is when you correct them with your superior knowledge. "I don't think her name is Martinez."
---
EPISODE 2: The iTunes Playlist
You have some friends over for a party. There's good music playing. Your friends say, "This is a cool music." Your spouse or significant other says, "Yeah! It's a playlist of Phil Collins' greatest hits that I made yesterday."
This is when you correct them with your superior knowledge. "That's not Phil Collins!"
---
WHAT DO DO ABOUT IT:
Before you open your mouth to argue with your loved one, STOP. Ask yourself these three questions.
If you can answer an honest and enthusiastic "yes" to all three of those questions, then by all means, speak up! But if you can't, then SHUT THE FUCK UP!
What's your real motivation in arguing with them?
Do they really benefit from your constant corrections? Is it making them a better person?
Does proving they're wrong, over and over again, give you more power - more control in the relationship?
Do you feel a need to keep them in their place?
Do you think they really enjoy your constant picking at them? Have they ever thanked you for it? I can tell you straight up, that they usually walk away thinking, "... What an asshole." Is that really what you want them to think?
Are you just trying to shut them up?
If one of these is your reason for arguing with them, then SHUT THE FUCK UP.
WHAT TO DO ABOUT IT:
Were they always wrong like this when you first fell in love with them? And you fell in love with them anyway? Then your own judgment is terribly flawed. You made a terrible mistake. If your judgment was so bad back then, then what on earth makes you feel qualified to point out their flaws now? You're nothing but a goddamned, fucking idiot.
Are they really so terrible - such awful specimens of humanity - that you feel the need to constantly point out their flaws and their mistakes to them? If so, why did you bother to get married (or whatever)? Why don't you just get up your courage to end the relationship and walk away? If they're so flawed, I'm sure you can find somebody better.
Because if you don't, someday they will.
POSTSCRIPTS
p.s. I'm pretty sure that when their phone displays "Amber Martinez texted you," it really means Martinez.
p. p.s. I'm also pretty sure that when they searched for "Phil Collins" on iTunes in order to build their playlist, they meant Phil Collins, and they only downloaded Phil Collins tunes.
p.p.p.s. By the way, if you're guilty of doing this, then you are a pompous, self-important, stuck-up, asshole. Just thought you should know.
p.p.p.p.s. You're saying, "It's not constantly". Oh, trust me, it's constantly. You just don't realize it. Look up "fundamental attribution error" on Google, cuz you're doing it.
(And guys, this is for you too, since way too many of you are still being assholes to your women.)
Why are you still arguing with the person you're supposed to love the most in your life? Why are you correcting them, arguing them, even interrupting them to do so? Why do you do it every time they open their mouths to speak?
Let me illustrate with a couple of episodes. These are real. Only the names have been changed.
---
EPISODE 1: The Texting Conversation
Your spouse or significant other just had an exciting text conversation with somebody, and they're dying to tell you about it. So they say "I just swapped a bunch of texts with Amanda Martinez," and they start telling you about it.
After a couple of sentences, you interrupt them: "Martinez ...?"
They answer, "Yeah ..."
This is when you correct them with your superior knowledge. "I don't think her name is Martinez."
---
EPISODE 2: The iTunes Playlist
You have some friends over for a party. There's good music playing. Your friends say, "This is a cool music." Your spouse or significant other says, "Yeah! It's a playlist of Phil Collins' greatest hits that I made yesterday."
This is when you correct them with your superior knowledge. "That's not Phil Collins!"
---
WHAT DO DO ABOUT IT:
Before you open your mouth to argue with your loved one, STOP. Ask yourself these three questions.
- Are you sure they're wrong?
You could both be right, you know. Maybe Amanda recently got married. One of you is thinking of her maiden name and one of you is thinking of her married name. Both names are right. - Does it matter?
If your spouse is telling a story from their college days, it doesn't really matter if the trip was 30 miles or 50 miles. You may think it matters, but IT REALLY DOESN'T. Just shut the fuck up and let the moment pass. Likewise, it really doesn't matter if they refer to Amanda by her maiden name or her married name. You both know who she is. - Will speaking up about it strengthen your relationship? Or, looking at it from the other direction, will being silent about it damage your relationship?
If you can answer an honest and enthusiastic "yes" to all three of those questions, then by all means, speak up! But if you can't, then SHUT THE FUCK UP!
What's your real motivation in arguing with them?
Do they really benefit from your constant corrections? Is it making them a better person?
Does proving they're wrong, over and over again, give you more power - more control in the relationship?
Do you feel a need to keep them in their place?
Do you think they really enjoy your constant picking at them? Have they ever thanked you for it? I can tell you straight up, that they usually walk away thinking, "... What an asshole." Is that really what you want them to think?
Are you just trying to shut them up?
If one of these is your reason for arguing with them, then SHUT THE FUCK UP.
WHAT TO DO ABOUT IT:
Were they always wrong like this when you first fell in love with them? And you fell in love with them anyway? Then your own judgment is terribly flawed. You made a terrible mistake. If your judgment was so bad back then, then what on earth makes you feel qualified to point out their flaws now? You're nothing but a goddamned, fucking idiot.
Are they really so terrible - such awful specimens of humanity - that you feel the need to constantly point out their flaws and their mistakes to them? If so, why did you bother to get married (or whatever)? Why don't you just get up your courage to end the relationship and walk away? If they're so flawed, I'm sure you can find somebody better.
Because if you don't, someday they will.
POSTSCRIPTS
p.s. I'm pretty sure that when their phone displays "Amber Martinez texted you," it really means Martinez.
p. p.s. I'm also pretty sure that when they searched for "Phil Collins" on iTunes in order to build their playlist, they meant Phil Collins, and they only downloaded Phil Collins tunes.
p.p.p.s. By the way, if you're guilty of doing this, then you are a pompous, self-important, stuck-up, asshole. Just thought you should know.
p.p.p.p.s. You're saying, "It's not constantly". Oh, trust me, it's constantly. You just don't realize it. Look up "fundamental attribution error" on Google, cuz you're doing it.
Tuesday, January 10, 2017
Another warning to women: One word is all it takes
Most women have no idea of the power of their words. They do not understand how, with one single simple word, or even just the inflection of their voice, they can turn a good day bad, or a bad day worse.
Or just the opposite: they can salvage a bad day and turn it good, or take a good day and make it spectacular. Just one single word.
There's a Biblical verse that says, "Out of the same mouth proceedeth blessing and cursing? My brethren, this ought not so to be." If you had to choose between saying something to make someone feel better and saying something to make someone feel worse, which one would you choose? Why would anyone ever choose to make someone feel worse? That is, without a doubt, one of the dumbest choices you could ever make.
A case in point: A husband and wife are getting ready for work. They're both running late, but it's garbage day, so the husband is scurrying around, emptying wastebaskets. He's not upset about it; it's just something that needs to be done, as normal as brushing teeth or grabbing a coat.
But taking out the garbage was also on the wife's list, and so she says to him, "I'll take care of that."
His reply, "No, don't worry, there's only one can left."
She could smile and say, "Thank you." She should smile and say, "Thank you." Instead, she snarls "All right ...." and they don't have time for any more interaction. She's busy with her hair and makeup, and he's already late, so he takes the trash out to the trash cans, puts them on the curb, and leaves for work.
He just gave her a gift of 10 to 15 extra minutes that morning - time that he really couldn't spare himself. It was a gift from the heart. But she didn't see it that way. For her, it was a disruption to her day's plans, and a loss of control.
And for the husband, although he couldn't put it in these words, he was hurt because his wife had rejected his gift. And the last thing he heard from her, as he went out the door, was not an expression of love, but a snarl.
Ladies!
1. Why would he want to go home to that? Who wants to go home to someone who feeds them vinegar instead of honey and wine?
2. How many more times will she reject these little gifts of love before he finally gives up and stops offering them?
Or just the opposite: they can salvage a bad day and turn it good, or take a good day and make it spectacular. Just one single word.
There's a Biblical verse that says, "Out of the same mouth proceedeth blessing and cursing? My brethren, this ought not so to be." If you had to choose between saying something to make someone feel better and saying something to make someone feel worse, which one would you choose? Why would anyone ever choose to make someone feel worse? That is, without a doubt, one of the dumbest choices you could ever make.
A case in point: A husband and wife are getting ready for work. They're both running late, but it's garbage day, so the husband is scurrying around, emptying wastebaskets. He's not upset about it; it's just something that needs to be done, as normal as brushing teeth or grabbing a coat.
But taking out the garbage was also on the wife's list, and so she says to him, "I'll take care of that."
His reply, "No, don't worry, there's only one can left."
She could smile and say, "Thank you." She should smile and say, "Thank you." Instead, she snarls "All right ...." and they don't have time for any more interaction. She's busy with her hair and makeup, and he's already late, so he takes the trash out to the trash cans, puts them on the curb, and leaves for work.
He just gave her a gift of 10 to 15 extra minutes that morning - time that he really couldn't spare himself. It was a gift from the heart. But she didn't see it that way. For her, it was a disruption to her day's plans, and a loss of control.
And for the husband, although he couldn't put it in these words, he was hurt because his wife had rejected his gift. And the last thing he heard from her, as he went out the door, was not an expression of love, but a snarl.
Ladies!
1. Why would he want to go home to that? Who wants to go home to someone who feeds them vinegar instead of honey and wine?
2. How many more times will she reject these little gifts of love before he finally gives up and stops offering them?
Friday, September 9, 2016
A Warning to All Women: Don't Stifle Your Man
I could write multiple posts about this, but let's start with this one.
Ladies! Has the man in your life ever wanted to do something by himself, like go skiing at Jackson Hole for the day, or backpacking for a week in the Tetons, and you shut him down? Then you are a goddamed, fucking, world-class, idiot.
Let me explain why.
The usual response of a woman, when a man says he wants to do something adventurous like that, is either (a) NOT to let him do it, or (b) to insist that he take you with him. Both of those are the wrong thing to do.
You see, a marriage (or a relationship) is supposed to be a partnership - usually a partnership of equals. And while you are now partners, you are also individuals. You don't surrender your individuality when you enter into this partnership. If you do, you surrender the very things that attracted the other person to you in the first place.
Not only that, but you don't surrender your freedom. A marriage or a relationship should give you a chance to grow and develop, not stifle you.
A man can't live his whole life stuck in a box. He needs to be able to stand up, stretch out, and run, screaming with wild abandon, through the open spaces of the world. If he can't do that, he becomes one of Thoreau's "mass of men, lead[ing] lives of quiet desperation."
And if you're the person who made him that way, then you might as well cut off his balls and put him on a leash. That's what you did to your dog. But you didn't join with this man because you wanted him for a pet. Did you? (If you did, then Woman, you deserve to die alone and lonely, in a dark, unheated apartment. Now.)
No, you got him because you loved the way that he was somanly, and did man things ambitious and adventurous. Why do you now want to stifle that? What gives you the authority to stifle it? You also got him because he treated you well, and did stuff for you, and encouraged you, and helped you to grow and blossom. IF YOU STOP HIM FROM DOING ALL THAT MANLY SHIT, HE WILL STOP DOING ALL THE OTHER SHIT AS WELL.
If you let your man go run that marathon, but you make sure he feels good and guilty about it, he will feel guilty on the way there, and he will start the marathon with an unnecessary load of stress. He will carry that guilt the whole time he's running. It will physically weigh him down, and he will not be at the top of his game. The distraction of the guilt may also impair his judgment, causing him to make some wrong (and possibly dangerous) decisions. And he will feel guilty all the way home. He will not look forward to seeing you, and in fact, he will fantasize about all the things he could do instead of going home to you.
If, worse, you don't let him go, if you make him stay home, he will brood about it - not just for the day or the week, but for a long, LONG time afterward. He may not show it, but it's there. This one disappointment and frustration will permanently change him, subtly altering his thought patterns and his behavior - and his feelings towards you. Is that what you wanted? Because that's what you got.
And what the hell? He indulges you, all the time. More than that, he encourages you. He never holds you back - and sometimes he even pushes you, in your timid moments. He only wants to see you happy, successful, and satisified. Why can't you do the same for him? In stifling him, you have revealed yourself as a selfish, hypocritical Queen Bitch.
Let me tell you what will happen, if you keep doing this to him. If you keep stifling him, burdening him, emasculating him, he will begin to resent you. One day you will wake up and wonder what happened to the man who used to worship the ground you walked on. Because by then, his resentment will have grown and grown, and it will have morphed into hatred - hatred that dwarfs the contempt that you have felt for him for so long. AND YOU DESERVE IT.
On the other hand, if you willingly and enthusiastically let your man stretch out once in a while, to do some man stuff by himself or with his manly buddies, he will come running back to you, with increased respect and gratitude for your support and encouragement, and more devoted to you than before.
It's your choice. And it's a pretty obvious choice. Don't be an idiot.
Ladies! Has the man in your life ever wanted to do something by himself, like go skiing at Jackson Hole for the day, or backpacking for a week in the Tetons, and you shut him down? Then you are a goddamed, fucking, world-class, idiot.
Let me explain why.
The usual response of a woman, when a man says he wants to do something adventurous like that, is either (a) NOT to let him do it, or (b) to insist that he take you with him. Both of those are the wrong thing to do.
You see, a marriage (or a relationship) is supposed to be a partnership - usually a partnership of equals. And while you are now partners, you are also individuals. You don't surrender your individuality when you enter into this partnership. If you do, you surrender the very things that attracted the other person to you in the first place.
Not only that, but you don't surrender your freedom. A marriage or a relationship should give you a chance to grow and develop, not stifle you.
A man can't live his whole life stuck in a box. He needs to be able to stand up, stretch out, and run, screaming with wild abandon, through the open spaces of the world. If he can't do that, he becomes one of Thoreau's "mass of men, lead[ing] lives of quiet desperation."
And if you're the person who made him that way, then you might as well cut off his balls and put him on a leash. That's what you did to your dog. But you didn't join with this man because you wanted him for a pet. Did you? (If you did, then Woman, you deserve to die alone and lonely, in a dark, unheated apartment. Now.)
No, you got him because you loved the way that he was so
If you let your man go run that marathon, but you make sure he feels good and guilty about it, he will feel guilty on the way there, and he will start the marathon with an unnecessary load of stress. He will carry that guilt the whole time he's running. It will physically weigh him down, and he will not be at the top of his game. The distraction of the guilt may also impair his judgment, causing him to make some wrong (and possibly dangerous) decisions. And he will feel guilty all the way home. He will not look forward to seeing you, and in fact, he will fantasize about all the things he could do instead of going home to you.
If, worse, you don't let him go, if you make him stay home, he will brood about it - not just for the day or the week, but for a long, LONG time afterward. He may not show it, but it's there. This one disappointment and frustration will permanently change him, subtly altering his thought patterns and his behavior - and his feelings towards you. Is that what you wanted? Because that's what you got.
And what the hell? He indulges you, all the time. More than that, he encourages you. He never holds you back - and sometimes he even pushes you, in your timid moments. He only wants to see you happy, successful, and satisified. Why can't you do the same for him? In stifling him, you have revealed yourself as a selfish, hypocritical Queen Bitch.
Let me tell you what will happen, if you keep doing this to him. If you keep stifling him, burdening him, emasculating him, he will begin to resent you. One day you will wake up and wonder what happened to the man who used to worship the ground you walked on. Because by then, his resentment will have grown and grown, and it will have morphed into hatred - hatred that dwarfs the contempt that you have felt for him for so long. AND YOU DESERVE IT.
On the other hand, if you willingly and enthusiastically let your man stretch out once in a while, to do some man stuff by himself or with his manly buddies, he will come running back to you, with increased respect and gratitude for your support and encouragement, and more devoted to you than before.
It's your choice. And it's a pretty obvious choice. Don't be an idiot.
Monday, November 3, 2014
I'm tired of women
I'm tired of women.
No, I'm not tired of sex. And I'm not tired of love or affection.
I'm tired of dealing with women and all of their crap.
I've got a wife who is turning meaner as she gets older. She's mean to me, to house guests, to relatives, and to anybody who doesn't match her way of thinking. She's kind to her children and their spouses, but that's about it. She's getting more like her mother every day.
I've got a 20-year-old close relative who thinks only of herself. It's as if her life is the only life in the world that matters. That's the way she was raised, and she can't understand why it should be any other way. I've tried to lovingly explain it to her, but she. Just. Doesn't. Get. It.
I've got a female friend who has horrendous mood swings. I can't tell from one day to the next how to act around her. I get it wrong every time, and I get in trouble because of it. And she won't go see a doctor or therapist about it.
And I've got another female friend whom I really care about, whom I worry about all the time, even though she hasn't really, truly communicated with me for months. I wish I could stop worrying about her.
Life would be simpler if I could just get rid of all the women in my life. I wouldn't be gay, either. That's a whole nuther set of problems. And I wouldn't get a dog. I'd just be by myself. Solitary man.
Life would be so much easier if I didn't care about all of these women. Or women in general. I wish God would take away this caring heart and replace it with a heart of stone.
No, I'm not tired of sex. And I'm not tired of love or affection.
I'm tired of dealing with women and all of their crap.
I've got a wife who is turning meaner as she gets older. She's mean to me, to house guests, to relatives, and to anybody who doesn't match her way of thinking. She's kind to her children and their spouses, but that's about it. She's getting more like her mother every day.
I've got a 20-year-old close relative who thinks only of herself. It's as if her life is the only life in the world that matters. That's the way she was raised, and she can't understand why it should be any other way. I've tried to lovingly explain it to her, but she. Just. Doesn't. Get. It.
I've got a female friend who has horrendous mood swings. I can't tell from one day to the next how to act around her. I get it wrong every time, and I get in trouble because of it. And she won't go see a doctor or therapist about it.
And I've got another female friend whom I really care about, whom I worry about all the time, even though she hasn't really, truly communicated with me for months. I wish I could stop worrying about her.
Life would be simpler if I could just get rid of all the women in my life. I wouldn't be gay, either. That's a whole nuther set of problems. And I wouldn't get a dog. I'd just be by myself. Solitary man.
Life would be so much easier if I didn't care about all of these women. Or women in general. I wish God would take away this caring heart and replace it with a heart of stone.
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
Why I Am Here
I think that everybody on earth is here for a reason.
For example, Nancy Grace's purpose in life is to be someone that the rest of us can hate, so we don't have to hate our mothers-in-law, our stepsisters, or the bitchy neighbor lady. That's the only reason I can think of for Nancy Grace to exist. But I digress. Back to the subject at hand.
My reason for being on earth? I'm not sure how to say this without sounding like a total perv, or a 19-year-old fratboy. Because this is a selfless comment, even though it will sound totally self-serving.
My mission in life is to make women feel good by playing with their boobs.
Most of my readers won't understand this. But if you're one of those women who really enjoys it when somebody (especially a man) caresses your breasts and teases or sucks on your nipples, then you'll understand.
For example, Nancy Grace's purpose in life is to be someone that the rest of us can hate, so we don't have to hate our mothers-in-law, our stepsisters, or the bitchy neighbor lady. That's the only reason I can think of for Nancy Grace to exist. But I digress. Back to the subject at hand.
My reason for being on earth? I'm not sure how to say this without sounding like a total perv, or a 19-year-old fratboy. Because this is a selfless comment, even though it will sound totally self-serving.
My mission in life is to make women feel good by playing with their boobs.
Most of my readers won't understand this. But if you're one of those women who really enjoys it when somebody (especially a man) caresses your breasts and teases or sucks on your nipples, then you'll understand.
Wednesday, May 8, 2013
Why Men Cheat on Their Wives - My View
Why do men cheat on their wives? What is it that makes an honorable man, one who promised to "love, honor and cherish" his wife, to "cleave unto her and none else ... for as long as we both shall live," end up in the arms of another woman?
This isn't about men who enter marriage with a propensity to cheat. This is about men who enter marriage with the intention to remain faithful until death, and end up cheating on their wives.
Five Really Important Reasons
1. Sex was too much work.
Let's get this one out of the way first.
Not all men who take Viagra need it for an underlying physical problem. They may think they do. But often, the process of getting the wife interested, then aroused, then finally orgasmic, is too much work, and Mr. Willy is exhausted long before it's over.
The man thinks that the problem is in his equipment, and that he needs the little blue pill - until he gives into temptation and has sex with another woman. Then he finds out that he's still got it, and he realizes that the problem is not him, but his wife.
But you know what? It's not about the sex. It really isn't. Most real men will admit, honestly, that they could live without sex if they got the other things they crave most from the woman they love: respect, affection, approval, affirmation, and even a little attention once in a while.
2. She abandoned him first.
Some women are affectionate, attentive, and all that until they get married. Then when they've got their man they think they don't need to do all that stuff anymore. These women ignore their men and become obsessed with:
In every one of these cases, the fact is that the woman has physically and emotionally abandoned her husband in favor of something else. He is made to feel totally useless, superfluous, and in the way - often his presence or his needs are even an annoyance.
Any woman who makes her husband feel this way deserves to lose him.
In response to this abandonment, some men take up fishing, mountain climbing, or other hobbies where the wife will never notice or care about his absence. Don't be surprised if Another Woman is one of those hobbies.
(That last one, "raising the kids?" Yes, it hurts the man, but it causes lifelong damage to the kids as well. This idea is worthy of its own blog article, not a paragraph in this one. But a woman who has abandoned her husband for her children deserves neither.)
3. "The dog gets more love than I do."
You would be dismayed at how many times this happens.
The husband takes the dog for a walk, to the doggy wash, or the kennel. When he returns with the dog, the wife showers the dog with attention, all that stupid baby talk and petting and snuggling, and of course the dog is wagging its tail, panting and whimpering with delight, licking her hand and nuzzling her the whole time. Then when she's finished with the dog, she glances at her husband, says, "Bill called. And the kitchen garbage needs to go out," then turns and walks away.
At night, they're relaxing in the living room, watching TV. The wife is snuggled up next to the dog, caressing it, running her fingers through its fur, and kissing it on the forehead. The husband sits on her other side, getting nothing but (literally) the cold shoulder.
Call it jealousy, if you want. But such favoritism or obliviousness on the wife's part is inexcusable.
4. He's not good enough for her, and never will be.
We make fun of the stereotype. We use it to get laughs in sitcoms, and to sell products in commercials. I'm talking about the stupid husband. The clueless husband. The ugly husband. The lazy husband.
Okay, there are a lot of those. Stereotypes tend to mirror reality. But stereotypes are based on perception, not reality, and they misrepresent a large portion of the population.
There are a lot of men out there who are trying really hard to be good men and good husbands, and they cannot seem to get a break. Their wives constantly belittle their best efforts. They argue with them and correct them, even when the men are right. (I have never been able to understand why women do that.) They interrupt them, talk over them, or just talk so much that the man can't get a word in without a crowbar.
They make fun of them, tease them, and hurt their feelings, for their own amusement or, worse, for the amusement of others. Sometimes they'll try to shrug off the teasing with "I'm just kidding! You know I love you, don't you?" Bullshit.
They pick fights with their husbands, even when the men don't want to fight. They take offense where none was intended. They find fault with EVERY SINGLE THING their husbands do and say.
When a faithful, well-intentioned man starts getting attention, approval and caring from a different woman, and he realizes that not every woman in the world is like the Queen Bitch his bride turned out to be, you can bet the last dollar in your wallet that he will start spending time with that other woman, and it will turn into something more intimate and fulfilling than anything his wife can offer him.
And even though that (formerly) faithful, well-intentioned man will feel all the guilt of cheating on his wife, and will carry the weight of all that guilt on his shoulders, it is his wife's fault, not his.
What to Do About It
I have seen committed couples work their way through chronic sickness, chronic severe pain, and even Alzheimer's Disease. The men remained faithful to their wives. Why? Of course, we can credit the character and integrity of the men, but I know the women as well, and the women never let their illness or pain overpower their love for their men. One of the most faithful, committed couples I know includes a woman whose bipolar disorder is sometimes physically debilitating. Yet she always treats her husband with consideration and gratitude.
I have seen couples who have been married 50 years or more, who act like newlyweds. No, not physically. But I've watched the woman get as excited as a schoolgirl while she waits for her husband to come home from a meeting or an trip.
One of the couples I really admire doesn't fit into either of those two molds. They're a very calm, very normal couple, married for 20 or 30 years. For all those years, every single day of their marriage, she has treated her husband as a human being, as someone of value and worthy of her respect.
Women, that's what you can do. A husband isn't a fish that you can catch. You can't put him on a stringer or in the freezer, or consume him and throw away the bones, or put him on the wall as a trophy. If that's what you have done to your husband, then you don't deserve him.
Equal Time for the Women
I know that if the genders were switched in this article, it would be an equally valid article entitled "Why Women Cheat on Their Husbands." But there are a lot more good women than good men in the world, and I thought that someone should speak up in defense of the good men - even those who end up straying - before the women drive them to extinction.
----------------------
UPDATE: Here's a pingback to Matt Walsh's blog entry on society condoning the shitty way women treat the men in their lives. It's worth reading, even if you're a liberal. I posted a comment there on Feb 24 at 3:53 p.m. http://themattwalshblog.com/2014/02/22/your-husband-doesnt-have-to-earn-your-respect/
ANOTHER UPDATE: That Matt Walsh link doesn't work anymore. It looks like Matt restructured his website when I wasn't looking. The original link to the Feb 22, 2014, article is now https://themattwalshblog.com/your-husband-doesnt-have-to-earn-your-respect/. Matt did follow it up with another article on Dec 14, 2017: https://themattwalshblog.com/effective-way-destroy-husband-ruin-marriage-encourage-infidelity/, which pretty much repeats what I've said here - and in other posts I've made since this one was originally published.
I don't agree with everything Matt posts on his blog (and it's okay that we disagree, by the way), but we definitely see eye to eye on this topic.
This isn't about men who enter marriage with a propensity to cheat. This is about men who enter marriage with the intention to remain faithful until death, and end up cheating on their wives.
Five Really Important Reasons
1. Sex was too much work.
Let's get this one out of the way first.
Not all men who take Viagra need it for an underlying physical problem. They may think they do. But often, the process of getting the wife interested, then aroused, then finally orgasmic, is too much work, and Mr. Willy is exhausted long before it's over.
The man thinks that the problem is in his equipment, and that he needs the little blue pill - until he gives into temptation and has sex with another woman. Then he finds out that he's still got it, and he realizes that the problem is not him, but his wife.
But you know what? It's not about the sex. It really isn't. Most real men will admit, honestly, that they could live without sex if they got the other things they crave most from the woman they love: respect, affection, approval, affirmation, and even a little attention once in a while.
2. She abandoned him first.
Some women are affectionate, attentive, and all that until they get married. Then when they've got their man they think they don't need to do all that stuff anymore. These women ignore their men and become obsessed with:
- a new job
- an education
- a church group, the PTA, running for elected office, and so on
- a project - from something as simple as scrapbooking to something as big as writing a new bestseller or starting a new business
- raising the kids
In every one of these cases, the fact is that the woman has physically and emotionally abandoned her husband in favor of something else. He is made to feel totally useless, superfluous, and in the way - often his presence or his needs are even an annoyance.
Any woman who makes her husband feel this way deserves to lose him.
In response to this abandonment, some men take up fishing, mountain climbing, or other hobbies where the wife will never notice or care about his absence. Don't be surprised if Another Woman is one of those hobbies.
(That last one, "raising the kids?" Yes, it hurts the man, but it causes lifelong damage to the kids as well. This idea is worthy of its own blog article, not a paragraph in this one. But a woman who has abandoned her husband for her children deserves neither.)
3. "The dog gets more love than I do."
You would be dismayed at how many times this happens.
The husband takes the dog for a walk, to the doggy wash, or the kennel. When he returns with the dog, the wife showers the dog with attention, all that stupid baby talk and petting and snuggling, and of course the dog is wagging its tail, panting and whimpering with delight, licking her hand and nuzzling her the whole time. Then when she's finished with the dog, she glances at her husband, says, "Bill called. And the kitchen garbage needs to go out," then turns and walks away.
At night, they're relaxing in the living room, watching TV. The wife is snuggled up next to the dog, caressing it, running her fingers through its fur, and kissing it on the forehead. The husband sits on her other side, getting nothing but (literally) the cold shoulder.
Call it jealousy, if you want. But such favoritism or obliviousness on the wife's part is inexcusable.
4. He's not good enough for her, and never will be.
We make fun of the stereotype. We use it to get laughs in sitcoms, and to sell products in commercials. I'm talking about the stupid husband. The clueless husband. The ugly husband. The lazy husband.
Okay, there are a lot of those. Stereotypes tend to mirror reality. But stereotypes are based on perception, not reality, and they misrepresent a large portion of the population.
There are a lot of men out there who are trying really hard to be good men and good husbands, and they cannot seem to get a break. Their wives constantly belittle their best efforts. They argue with them and correct them, even when the men are right. (I have never been able to understand why women do that.) They interrupt them, talk over them, or just talk so much that the man can't get a word in without a crowbar.
They make fun of them, tease them, and hurt their feelings, for their own amusement or, worse, for the amusement of others. Sometimes they'll try to shrug off the teasing with "I'm just kidding! You know I love you, don't you?" Bullshit.
They pick fights with their husbands, even when the men don't want to fight. They take offense where none was intended. They find fault with EVERY SINGLE THING their husbands do and say.
When a faithful, well-intentioned man starts getting attention, approval and caring from a different woman, and he realizes that not every woman in the world is like the Queen Bitch his bride turned out to be, you can bet the last dollar in your wallet that he will start spending time with that other woman, and it will turn into something more intimate and fulfilling than anything his wife can offer him.
And even though that (formerly) faithful, well-intentioned man will feel all the guilt of cheating on his wife, and will carry the weight of all that guilt on his shoulders, it is his wife's fault, not his.
What to Do About It
I have seen committed couples work their way through chronic sickness, chronic severe pain, and even Alzheimer's Disease. The men remained faithful to their wives. Why? Of course, we can credit the character and integrity of the men, but I know the women as well, and the women never let their illness or pain overpower their love for their men. One of the most faithful, committed couples I know includes a woman whose bipolar disorder is sometimes physically debilitating. Yet she always treats her husband with consideration and gratitude.
I have seen couples who have been married 50 years or more, who act like newlyweds. No, not physically. But I've watched the woman get as excited as a schoolgirl while she waits for her husband to come home from a meeting or an trip.
One of the couples I really admire doesn't fit into either of those two molds. They're a very calm, very normal couple, married for 20 or 30 years. For all those years, every single day of their marriage, she has treated her husband as a human being, as someone of value and worthy of her respect.
Women, that's what you can do. A husband isn't a fish that you can catch. You can't put him on a stringer or in the freezer, or consume him and throw away the bones, or put him on the wall as a trophy. If that's what you have done to your husband, then you don't deserve him.
Equal Time for the Women
I know that if the genders were switched in this article, it would be an equally valid article entitled "Why Women Cheat on Their Husbands." But there are a lot more good women than good men in the world, and I thought that someone should speak up in defense of the good men - even those who end up straying - before the women drive them to extinction.
----------------------
UPDATE: Here's a pingback to Matt Walsh's blog entry on society condoning the shitty way women treat the men in their lives. It's worth reading, even if you're a liberal. I posted a comment there on Feb 24 at 3:53 p.m. http://themattwalshblog.com/2014/02/22/your-husband-doesnt-have-to-earn-your-respect/
ANOTHER UPDATE: That Matt Walsh link doesn't work anymore. It looks like Matt restructured his website when I wasn't looking. The original link to the Feb 22, 2014, article is now https://themattwalshblog.com/your-husband-doesnt-have-to-earn-your-respect/. Matt did follow it up with another article on Dec 14, 2017: https://themattwalshblog.com/effective-way-destroy-husband-ruin-marriage-encourage-infidelity/, which pretty much repeats what I've said here - and in other posts I've made since this one was originally published.
I don't agree with everything Matt posts on his blog (and it's okay that we disagree, by the way), but we definitely see eye to eye on this topic.
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