Everybody says that it’s different when you get married. Sure, how could it not be different? I mean, any idiot would know that dating is different than committing to an entire lifetime together… but when people describe marriage they just shake their heads when you ask just how it’s different. It just is. You’ll understand someday…
That ‘someday’ is about six weeks away… and although I’d never suggest that I truly understand what marriage is, I’m starting to catch a clue. Inviting a woman to be a part of your life makes you completely rethink everything. How do I respond when I’m angry? Am I really prepared to compromise? Do I really understand the nuances of my actions? Sure, you’d expect to consider all those things in the presence of the future mother of your children… but are you really prepared – and I mean REALLY prepared – to completely rethink how you live?
I don’t think any of us are.
You see, I mistakenly entered into my engagement expecting to concentrate on who I was… and while that is completely necessary (trust me, fellas), I was blindsided by the number of things I find completely livable that totally piss a woman off. Take, as an example, the shower curtain. When a woman really gets comfortable you are in for quite a shock. I always liked my shower curtain. It had surf boards on it. I had a towel rack that had ‘surf shack’ carved into a little wooden board where you’d hang a wet towel. Well… fuck that shit, that’s history. Apparently, little green leaves create the proper ambiance for a shower curtain, and towels dry much more effectively when suspended from decorative hooks that look like sea shells. Had I known how retarded my bathroom was previously, I’d have never invited anyone over…
And it’s not like you have a discussion about this shit. You just come home one day and it’s changed. And it’s not that the change is irritating either… it’s just that you didn’t have the foggiest goddamn clue it was wrong in the first place. Slowly, other things change. Like the couch. Okay, that’s a major purchase… it’s not like that changes without discussion… but you can’t help feeling like a slave to the redecorating process when you show up to the furniture store, credit card in hand, having no real control over what’s about to happen next. We bought a sectional… a big, beautiful, comfortable, room for everyone to sit on it sectional… and before I walked into the store I didn’t know what the fuck a sectional was. Oh, and a new coffee table. And an area rug, even though the living room has fucking carpet to begin with…
… and you know what? She was right. It works. I love my new living room, though my retarded bachelor mind would have spent the money on beer and lap dances otherwise…
Once this major event happens, you kind of give up control. Yeah, baby, just make yourself happy. Oh, you’re registering for wedding gifts? Do I want to help? Umm, no, I’m cool with just driving the Vette with my brother in law. Is it cool that I drive the Vette with my brother in law? Yes? Really?? Well, then, fucking knock yourself out. Three hours later I came back to my sister and fiancée busily hovering over the iPad, cleaning ‘Bed Bath & Beyond’ out of their entire inventory. Do I want to look at what you picked out? No, not really. Oh… I have to look? Well then why the fuck did you ask if I wanted to… sure, I’ll look. Measuring cups? Okay. Silverware? Fuck me, I already have forks… did you really register for that? And more spatulas? We cook shit in the microwave… did you ever consider that? Whatever, babe, you did great. I love you. I’m going to go ahead and start grilling steaks… you know, to balance out all the estrogen hanging in the air…
A week later, this shit just started showing up at the doorstep… and, to my dismay, the things people bought were things that I already had. Drinking glasses? Did someone really buy me drinking glasses? I have never once gone to the kitchen to pour myself a beverage and didn’t have something to put it in. What a waste… look, see, I’ll prove it! What’s wrong with… drinking… out of mason jars. Damn, these glasses are pretty nice. Fuck those mason jars, put them in the donation box. And holy shit! Do you mean to tell me I only have three forks? I thought the others were in the dishwasher? No?? Yeah, silverware… good call. And the cookware kit comes with a potato peeler? For real? You mean I don’t have to peel potatoes with a butter knife any more??
Damn, woman, I’m not questioning your domestic skills any longer…
I can only imagine how things will change once she’s pregnant. Sure, the computer room will be converted into a nursery… I saw that one coming… but there’s got to be a hundred things in my house that were never purchased with babies in mind. The debate has already begun. What if the baby walks into the glass coffee table in the sun room? Uhh, no big deal. I mean, is that any different than the baby walking into the stone hearth by the fireplace? I like my coffee table. And I like football too. How about we get the little fucker a helmet and I keep the table? Doesn’t that make us both happy? I offer these compromises with an equal amount of humor and genuine seriousness… but the look I get in response suggests that the debate is far from over…
While these changes are unmistakably disruptive, you can’t help but admit they’re for the greater good. Before Ashley showed up, I was pouring petty cash into performance parts for my Corvette. The pendulum has swung… and although I’m pretty damn sure I’m going to have a cam upgrade for the Vette before I have a new gas stove, I welcome my new female overlord.
Damn, isn’t life good.
I wonder if they make race helmets in children’s sizes?
— Bingo