On marital disintegration

Being in varying degrees of proximity to a relationship or three which appear to be foundering – or have already sunk into the depths – there’s a common theme I’ve noted. Perhaps the most important is that while both sexes are more than a little confused about their proper roles in a functioning marriage, it’s the wives who seem particularly out to sea with regards to their priorities.

It might help, I think, for some women to remember what their vows are centered on, and the special role they have taken in their husband’s lives. Seriously, with the priorities I’ve seen some women display, I can only wonder what job they thought they were signing up for.

If you worry more about what you’re going to serve a man for dinner than how you’re going to rock his world later, you’re not his wife, you’re his cook.

If you spend more time obsessing about the last time you cleaned the house than the last time you had sex, you’re not his wife, you’re his cleaning lady.

If the children are always your top priority at all times, then you’re not his wife, you’re the nanny – or maybe just the day care center.

It’s not that these things are unimportant, but while they’re important, they are properly secondary concerns in a marriage. Your husband didn’t vow before God and Man to be faithful to your cooking and to never eat at another restaurant, after all. And sure, there will be times you’re not in the mood or whatever, but you might want to consider this: would you consider that reasonable grounds for him refusing to pay the mortage or the health insurance? Sex, like love, is a choice. If you’re always waiting for things to magically happen and sweep you away, you need to grow up and quit sleeping with the stuffed unicorn with the rainbows on it.

From what I’ve seen, there’s no shortage of men and women who simply don’t take marriage very seriously and refuse to accept any responsibilities within it. But failing to accept them doesn’t mean they don’t exist and that there won’t be consequences for doing so.

(As for those pathetic women who can find four hours to watch sitcom sexcapades on TV every night but can’t find an hour for the real thing, you’d be wise to buy your husband a subscription to the porn site of his preference and budget for a call girl once a month if you don’t want to wind up collecting cats and alimony.)

There’s a reason why call girls make considerably more money per hour than cooks, cleaners and day care workers, after all. This is because the service they provide is significantly more important to men.

I don’t condone my acquaintances who leave their frigid wives and move on to friendlier climes with a free-at-last smile on their faces, but it’s certainly no mystery why they would do so, leaving behind a woman who laments how she can’t imagine what went wrong when she was such a perfect cook, housekeeper and mother.

God is good. He knew what he was doing when he gave us Chinese takeout, the Roomba and early bedtimes.