Marriage is an ancient institution, and the wife and I have been institutionalized for more than 30 years.
After saying “I do,” I haven’t taken a serious trip to a clothing store, a grocery store or a dry cleaner . I haven’t paid a bill since 1984. I did the taxes once in the 90’s. She does all that and more…
(When in Tucson I do go to Trader Joes, but that’s just to buy wine and cookies… And believe me Joe Rogers, you quarter-cookie-eating pussy, none of those cookies go to waste.)
While she does all this, I truly have no idea what she gets out of this institution.
I just hand over my paycheck and do whatever she asks. That’s how I got suckered into 30 years of fucking lawn care. But that’s a small price to pay — literally.
I was a journalist and teacher for 12 years, so my whole paycheck for most of our marriage covered just about what I ate for lunch.
She has asked me to do a lot of things. But most of the time, I just FUBAR it. (That’s “Fuck Up Beyond All Recognition” for you douchebag millennials). It comes very naturally to me. I can FUBAR almost anything without even trying. It’s to the point where she will not “allow me” to separate laundry.
When you get to these hefty anniversary numbers, there’s always some smug fucking couples that want to tell everybody the “secret” to marriage. Don’t listen to those shit heads.
I’ve been at this 3 decades and fuck if I know.
OK I suspect a few things have helped (I have no idea if they will work for you):
- Spend some time with bad couples. After an evening with family or friends, we get home and one of us says: “Jesus Christ I’m lucky I have you – did you see what that asshole/bitch did?”
- Keep “happy couples,” (real or fake) the fuck away from your spouse. I’m looking at you Tony P — keep your wife and smiley little bastard baby at home and off Facebook. You are screwing up the curve.
- Don’t be fucking boring. Have some new stories to tell — bitching about work doesn’t count.
Notice I’m using “wife” in this post. I didn’t anticipate Lewis Black reading a rant with the “B-word.” When we got married in 1987, who knew that some day my wife would have to publicly state: “I am not a Bear.” I was waiting for an elephant-man like lament: “I am a human being”…
But fortunately it wasn’t that bad. I would like to continue to be institutionalized, so wife it is.
The boy will be 27 this summer. When I was his age, I had already been married for 2 years and he was in diapers. The wife has been pressing him to have grandchildren (for her) since he was 16. He has wisely slipped the marriage knot.
He’s had a slew of girlfriends, so he makes up nicknames to help me keep them straight:
- Ginger stripper (she was not a stripper but that’s a long story)
- Man hands…
If he chooses to get married, I wish I could give him some sage fatherly advice. But this is all I got:
- Try not to pick a crazy one (check the parents and siblings)
- Make sure she has a demanding a job — you sure as hell don’t want to be the focus of any woman’s full attention. (And the money usually helps).
- Find one with a sense of humor — she’s going to need it surrounded by all the goddamn Savages.
- If anyone tells you you will know when you have found “The One“… Punch that lying mother fucker in the face…
Ohhhh, and I guess you could say we are happily married…. At least we are having a great time in “the institution”.