On husbandry, rants and apologium

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Introduction

Not including this introduction, this post has three parts of which you are likely to hate at least one. When you hit that one, skip it and move on.

The first part is offensively egotistical, the second part is offensively presumptuous, the third part contains potentially offensive terminology.

That said, I have no desire to offend you.


The best husband

A few weeks ago, Lady Steed was visiting with some friends and they reached the conclusion that of all their husbands, I was the best. The big thing I had going for me was my superior social skills. Those of you have met me in the real world are now wondering how in the world someone with fewer social skills than Theric ever managed to get married. It is an excellent question.

Another of my attributes that makes me such a good husband is my mouldability. Lady Steed buys me clothes; I wear said clothes. Lady Steed asks me to take out the trash; I take out said trash. Lady Steed tells me to stop singing and tapping my way down the frozen foods aisle; I make an honest effort.

However, I refuse to goop my hair.

Lady Steed, my sister the beautician, and others have told me that I would look nice with my hair spiky. Besides the ludicrous notion that anyone looks better when their head looks like pigeon repellent, I will not put goop in my hair. For a couple reasons. First, gel. What a waste of money! I can't imagine anything less worth my hard-earned dollars. Second, touching. I always have my hands in my hair. Always. I never stop touching my head. If our society considering touching one's hair the height of obscenity, then I would be diagnosed with all sorts of psycho-ailments--from kinesthetic Tourette's to every other antisocial mental malady imaginable. I would be unfit to hang anywhere outside the asylum.

Otherwise, word on the street is I'm a pretty good husband.


Rant

Speaking of--and I've been wanting to complain about this for awhile, but haven't been sure how people will take it--but speaking of, where are all the other pretty good husbands?

I am completely perplexed by the numbers of absurdly unwed women I know--women who any half-sensible man would be desperate to give their lives to. Now maybe it's just because I don't retain male friends well and so most of the people I know are, in fact, women, but it seems to me that there are many more unwed women my age than men. And I don't know why. Have the men been conscripted to fight in Salvadoran revolutions? Have they been forced into polyandrous marriages and are now living out their lives wearing silk pajamas and eating pomegranates in some rich woman's harem? Is there a strange virus that kills men who don't get married by thirty? What is going on? Is their mass apostasy among men? Or are the lazy bastards just playing Xbox eighteen hours a day?

I keep expecting to figure out this disparity, but I still have not.

Maybe one of you can tell me.


Apologia

Speaking of my supposed status as a good husband, I wish to apologize for my use of words such as the following:

testes

diarrhea

snot

whores

sex

horny

crapper

breast

liver

floofy

segue (you know it sounds bad)

heterosexual

whacked

saliva

sperm

PMS

crap

puss

toilet

spleen

mono

sewage

naked

tonsils

rectum

I am not the sort of person who laughs at farts. I am twenty-nine years old and I am still waiting for a fart that I think is funny. When I hear one, I will laugh; but I haven't laughed yet. This highmindedness may be generalized beyond farting and, therefore, I think of myself as a rather genteel person. But looking at that list of words you would not believe it. And therefore I apologize.

Enjoy your weekend.