Driving Women Crazy

She cooks. He washes. Division of labor. That’s the deal. It works. No discussions, no excuses. Everybody’s happy. The marriage remains blissful. But that’s not how it started. It’s not how anything starts.

Now, men, this is not about us being God’s gift to women. So put away your childish ideas and egos and face the cold, hard facts…we drive women crazy! To validate the point, let’s visit our friend’s home...the bathroom, the bedroom and the kitchen.

Their trouble began on the honeymoon night. Things were going smoothly until he heard her scream from the bathroom. Seems he left the lid up. She fell in. He laughed. She fumed. His future flashes before his eyes. He has to decide…flush or extricate her from Mr. Kohler’s ceramic contraption. His decision haunts him.

She decides he needs training. She wastes no time informing him that things are going to change. He brings up his mother. “Do I look like your mother? Leave her out of this,” she says. “And by the way, remember the prenup we signed?” Money, or the loss of it, gets his attention. “Let’s start in the bathroom, where you humiliated me. Remember that night?” How could he forget.

“See the lid? Next time I find it up, you’ll be wearing it around your neck. And that dried tooth paste and hair in the sink? The sink’s not an incubator, clean it,” she says. He pouts, but follows instructions. A thought briefly crosses his mind, “Why don’t I train her?” Which reveals his IQ. Whoever heard of training a woman? It’s like washing a cat…you’ll only try that once.

She continues the bathroom training. “Listen, big boy, think of me as Mrs. Charles Manson the next time you pinch, slap or grab me while I’m doing my hair.” He sees the knife in her eyes. “Furthermore, see that towel lying on the floor? Picture a noose.” He does and gets the message. He sulks.

Grabbing his ear, she walks him into the bedroom. “Now hear this,” she says. “Before we go to sleep, the last things I want to hear about are problems or money. Or you’ll have less money and more problems.” She continues. “Now, about your snoring. You have two choices…the sofa or duct tape your mouth. You can’t sleep here.” He knows better than to argue with a woman whose hands are on her hips. He doesn’t.

Then she moves on to her dressing room. He remembers she often asks, “How do I look?” The truth isn’t necessarily what she wants to hear. She gives him a book of ‘golden adjectives,’ telling him to pick some flattering ones. He chooses ravishing, dazzling, radiant, stunning and gorgeous. She approves. He writes them on the palm of his left hand, after he erases super, nice, ok and not bad. He begins to catch on.

They move into the kitchen. She opens the refrigerator and says, “This bowl of soup has only one spoonful left. Why’d you put it back in? Eat it or wash it.” He shrinks and becomes insignificant. He thinks of calling his mother. “Another thing,” she says. “If I ever see you drink from the milk carton, you’ll be attending Martha Stewart’s Hygiene School.”

“While I’m at it,” she says, “I’m gonna give you a tutorial in the ‘we’ concept.” Had his mother forgotten to teach him that? Seems she’d forgotten a lot of things, he concludes. He considers disowning her. “It’s simple,” she says. “Every time I say, ‘we’ need to do this or that, it means ‘you’. Get it?” He does, but curses under his breath.

She adds more. “You’d better write down every word I say. There will be a quiz.” He couldn’t remember that in the marriage vows.

She concludes the day’s regimen, telling him that she never wants to hear anything about his ego, bravado or libido. He feels emasculated. Has marriage come to this? He calls his father, asking for answers. His father says, “Son, you forfeited all your rights when you said ‘I do.’ Try praying.” Which might explain why his father spends a lot of time on his knees in the garden.

The training program is continuing after 25 years of marriage. He learns to simply say, “Yes, dear,” and to spend more time in the men’s grill.


Bud Hearn
November 18, 2010