I often hear people say that the secret to a happy marriage is “trust”, “respect”, “shared interests”, “spending quality time together”, etc. Well, that is all bullshit. Ask a divorcee. Most will tell you that they had (or thought they had) some, if not all, of these characteristics or efforts within their previous marriage(s). Few will say they thought they had anything but a normal, average marriage before deciding to purchase their ticket to the “Big D”.
Trust-Seriously? Do you really need someone to tell you that you should trust the person you marry? If you can’t trust someone, you shouldn’t be friends with them, much less have sex with them and/or commit to spend the rest of your life and possibly raise children with said person. If you need this explained to you, please remove yourself from the gene pool.
Respect-Sure, you should respect one another. Respect is such a broad term, though. My husband can piss me off like no one else can and vice versa. If I get annoyed and tell him he is an asshole or he tells me to shut the fuck up, obviously we are not being respectful but if you are willing to throw in the towel because you or your spouse lost your cool and called you a name, you need to grow the fuck up. I respect my marriage, regardless of whether I am pissed at my husband or living in wedded bliss. I took vows, among those I vowed to love him in sickness and in health, I vowed to love him for richer or poorer, I vowed to be faithful, I even vowed not to step on his blue suede shoes. I never took any vow not to call him a fucking douchebag when he would pretend to be asleep and unaware of our newest infant awakening for the third time in 5 hours.
Shared interests-You can shove this one up your ass. I am not going to even try to give a fuck about golf or Nascar. In return, I will not expect him to give a fuck about my shoe collection or how to improve said collection. He is also not expected to notice when I have my hair done or when I am wearing a new outfit. As a matter of fact, it is preferential that he not notice so that I am not expected to answer any questions about spending. Everyone is happy.
Spending quality time together-This does not take that much effort, people. Men: Exchanging bodily fluids does not, in and of itself, constitute “quality time”.
The fact is, people, some of that shit I listed above is important but do you really need to be told not to fuck other people or to spend time with one another? If you do, you are doomed. I am going to tell you the real secret. You want a happy husband? Here is the key: LOW EXPECTATIONS.
-Do you have the house spotless and dinner on the table every night when hubby gets home? Well, stop that shit. Depending on how long you have been acting like Donna fucking Reed, it may take you a little more time to reset his expectations.
*When you do this shit every fucking day, you and your efforts get taken for granted. It becomes expected and, most often, your husband’s expectations increase at a more accelerated rate and he has the audacity to begin expressing disappointment, like “I was hoping you would make mashed potatoes and gravy from scratch” or “this would have been better with a little more pepper.” or “is the vacuum not working today?”. When that happens, I want you to squash the urge to slap him with the chicken breast you have hand seasoned and marinated all day and strangling him with the vacuum cord. You have no one to blame but yourself for his inflated expectations and resulting insulting advice. You can fix this, though. It is not too late. You have to decide, here and now, that you are committed to retraining him. Men are like lumps of clay. They can be molded and remolded. If you let him sit for a while molded in a particular way, you may have to pound it a little harder or knead it a little longer but, rest assured, he can be reshaped. Let tears and sex be your sculpting tools.
This house is never spotless. Damn! I have three kids and now I have another one freeloading in my uterus. I pick up the living room, seemingly, just to make more room for these little tornadoes to destroy. Guess what, if you think that I suck at housekeeping, I don’t give a shit. If you think my floors could be cleaner, feel free to grab a vacuum. If you see I missed a spot or 10 on my counters, grab a fucking sponge. If you expect this place to sparkle and for me to greet you with my hair pefectly coiffed, wearing makeup and pearls, you married the wrong woman. If I want to look nice, I will put on a bra. That is dressing up.
If you come home and smell something burning, dinner is ready! If not, feel free to help yourself to leftovers, make a sandwich or have cereal.
The 2-3 times a week that I do make an actual dinner, it is like Christmas for my husband. When the kids spend more time outside on certain days and I actually get the house to look really nice, he notices. You see, I keep his expectations low and he appreciates and acknowledges those things that Donna fucking Reed’s husband takes for granted every day. He is happy because he has a giant hunk of delicious roast on his plate and I am happy because he can’t stop telling me what a wonderful cook I am.
This, my friends, is the key to a successful marriage. You can thank me later. Now, start pounding that man clay.