Oh, we women! We women love to talk. We talk, and we talk, and we talk some more. We talk about meaningful intellectual stuff, sure. But we also talk shit. We talk shit about our kids. We talk shit about our husbands. And, let’s be honest, we talk shit about each other. It’s a total shit storm of laughter and gossipy fun when we women get together.
I was out the other day with some friends (no really, it’s true) and it was a total bitchfest. We bitched about our barbaric offspring, our spoon-fed husbands, the toxic state of our house, our cottage-cheese asses, our “sea food” diets, and our ever-increasing dependency on coffee and wine to numb it all away. As women, we take mental notes, we compare, we silently judge, we mask our envy and we share our opinions.
We also offer extremely helpful advice to one another. Because we women have an answer for everything. We suggest trendy parenting books. We pass around the number of a good house cleaner. We share exercise regimes. Diet tips. We clink our glasses together, all in the name of wine with a splash of whine. You name it, we solve it. But the one thing we don’t have answers for? Our bloody husbands. We bitch. We commiserate. We empathize. We nod in the unfortunate familiarity of it all. But we can’t really offer any advice because turns out there’s no golden “Man”ual.
We get all wobbly kneed and blindsided by the sparkly diamond ring. And poof, just like that, we marry our Prince Charming… Only to discover that underneath that princely charm lies a Neanderthal child who can’t take care of themselves.
Now listen, I don’t want to be dissin’ on your man, or mine for that matter. Big J is a good man. He is loyal. He works hard. He smells good. And he puts up with my crazy. But sometimes I fear that Big J is a toddler trapped inside a grown man’s body. Because, like my children, he has an impressively lengthy list of things that drive me bat-shit crazy.
So based on my years of marriage and intimate bitchfests, I’ve made a list of “R U F-ing Kidding Me?” Husband Moments. But I’ll give credit where credit is due… these are not all about Big J (although some are!).
THE TOILET SEAT
A fairly large percentage of men are totally and utterly incapable of putting the lid down. Period.
SOLUTION: Find a picture of your mother, his mother-in-law, and tape it to the rim of the toilet, and write “Nice balls!”… WhoaHaHa! I guarantee you, he’ll learn to pee sitting down… unless your mom looks like Christie Brinkley, in which case you have no case!
FACIAL HAIR IN SINK
They need to shave. Fine. I get it. But is it really so hard to run the water and do a quick rince for 5 seconds after?!
SOLUTION: It’ll take some time, but collect that speckled shit into a ziplock bag. During dinner when he asks you to “pass the pepper”, whip out your baggie and sprinkle that shit on his food. He’ll start rinsing.
INABILITY TO HEAR BABY CRYING AT NIGHT
Why we women are stereotyped as “high maintenance” I’ll never know. We are workhorses! ‘Sleeping Beauty’ should have been a man… and there certainly wouldn’t have been any Kiss of Love comin’ from we women.
SOLUTION: One word… Taser! Zzz…
Dirty clothes go in the bin. Like, is it really that hard to grasp? Even a donkey could figure this one out.
SOLUTION: Clearly, they need incentive. I’ve invented a laundry “Bin For Him”. I’m bringing laundry and porn together. Load for a load!
I swear man’s brain is literally split down the middle… or nearly, with 51% porn, 49% sports. I truly believe they have a genetic predisposition to ignore all else that life has to offer.
SOLUTION: This won’t be an easy one to crack. But maybe this time it’s about marrying sports with porn. During the game, get out your little pink duster, strip down to your sexies, step into some heels, and do a little dusting around the TV. If he doesn’t reciprocate, he is either having an affair or gay. In which case, your marriage just got, well, more interesting.
Crikey… No need to explain. I’m just going to post a picture of the fuckery I awaken to every morning.
SOLUTION: I honestly don’t have one. Although the one thing that Melania Trump said that proved to me she just might have an IQ higher than a pigeon is when she said the secret to a good marriage is separate bathrooms. Word up, Melania!
DOESN’T KNOW WHERE ANYTHING IS:
“Ummm… you live here too, right?”, says almost every wife. ‘Cause if after all this time, he’s still asking where the toilet paper is kept, then we women should be really worried about what’s on our towels. ‘Cause I’m thinking those markings ain’t from no mascara, yo!
SOLUTION: Just leave! Go! Book yourselves into a hotel, a spa, a brothel. Anywhere. Let him figure that shit out on his own. It’s time he pulled up his big boy pants. Hopefully AFTER wiping… and with toilet paper!
They put empty milk cartons back in the fridge, empty cereal boxes in the pantry, ice cream, condiments. You name it!
SOLUTION: Empty all their beers out (or better yet, drink them), and restock their case or the fridge with empties. Most effective if done on game night. He’ll get the point… fast!
They say you can lead a horse to water, but you cannot make him drink. Or in the case of we women… you can make a man your husband, but you cannot make him think. Well, I disagree. While our Dear Husbands may never be as awesome and flawless as we women *cough*, I have total faith that they are indeed “trainable”. What’s more, my Solutions don’t only benefit we women, but our husbands too. You see, as a husband, if you’d only stop doing the things on the “R U F-ing Kidding Me?” list, your chances of getting laid increase substantially.
And, well, with Valentine’s Day right around the corner, I just thought I’d help a bro’ out…