Men, I get it.
So far this morning I’ve: done my banking, paid bills, washed the car and filled its tank, gone grocery shopping (then brought everything home, unloaded the trunk and put it all away), taken my critters to the groomer and gone to the dry cleaners. Fortunately, I didn’t have to do the laundry, clean the house or take care of the lawn. Thank goodness for housekeepers and gardeners.
I understand why you live longer when you get a wife. All you have to do is put in your 40 hours. Hell, your wife does that on a long weekend. During the week, she likely puts in as many hours taking care of your ass–and your spawn–as you do at work. And, if she has a job outside the home, oy vey… Yeah, I know–compromise, sharing household duties, blah blah bullshit–I’ve heard it all and it really does sound good, in theory. To top it all off, you get laid regularly and by the same person.
Dayum, if I were a man, I’d get me one of them there wives, too.
Alas, I was born with parts that exempt me from a career as a husband; I’d get the shitty end of the marriage stick. Uh, no thanks.
But, you know, maybe I can have the groceries delivered and hire a hunky personal assistant to handle everything else (uh, including me). I could get all the benefits of being a husband–without the worry of drama, community property and spousal support.
I think I’m on to something here…