I like men. Especially their lovely chests and shoulders, which aid in their super human abilities such as opening the pickle jar and moving the couch in a single bound. Husbands can be wonderful additions to our lives and great role models for our kids. They have many lovely qualities, but sometimes (if we’re being honest) they just don’t get it.
I’ve wondered what it might be like if we married our best girlfriends and met our husbands at regular intervals to catch up, have dinner, and take a roll in the hay. It’s like prison except, well…okay, maybe it’s nothing like prison. Moving on, then.
Most of you are already thinking of the friend you’d like to marry. She’s the one who knows all of your glorious flaws. She appreciates the quirky ones like fine art and accepts the ugly ones as part of the package. No explanations needed for weird habits or (lack of) moral standing in some (or a lot) of areas. If you don’t call for a month, she understands. If you don’t immediately return a text, she knows it’s because you’re busy. She’s the no bullshit friend-the very best kind.
You don’t have to clean for her, dress up for her, or be anything for her. She’s held you when you sob, listened to your petty grievances, shrugged off your grand fuck-ups, and cheered your victories with sincerity. She may have been in your life for 20 years or more when you add it up, outdating everyone else you know that isn’t a blood relative. She’s in it for the long haul and you haven’t even said, “I do.” At least not yet.
Here are all the reasons women should get a wife instead of a husband:
She carries extra tampons. She understands vag issues such as pap smears, gyno exams, and the crotch sweat caused by panty hose. She knows all about mowing the lawn, waxing, shaving, razor burn, and ingrown hairs…down there. If she has children, then she also understands pooping during childbirth, hemorrhoids, and the potential for varicose veins…down there. It’s a vast land and she has traveled the journey.
See above. She understands the importance of a good bra, nipple pasties to prevent headlights, and the unparalleled feeling of euphoria achieved only by removing a bra. If she has children, she understands the potential pain of breastfeeding, tube sock titties, leaky boobies, and having your shit flashed in public by a wiggly and screaming baby.
Out of mascara? No problem. Need some whore-red lipstick? Gotcha covered. Wanna try some fancy new moisturizer? Here, put this on your face! Huge zit? She has just the thing. Post baby belly? She has Spanx!
“She said WHAT? I can’t believe that biatch. Here honey, have a gallon of wine and lay it on me.” Plus, she will understand exactly why you’re pissed off without explanation. Because it’s just SO OBVIOUS.
“There’s a black hair in my ear. Can you get it?” She can also inform you when the mole on your chin is sprouting fuzz. Then she’ll pinch the zit on your shoulder she noticed while she was getting the black hair out of your ear. There is no limit to the gross when wives have wives.
She knows when it’s her turn to do the dishes and fold the laundry. She knows this because she wears the clothes and uses the dishes. No passive aggressive reminders or dirty looks necessary.
She will always understand what you really want for Mother’s Day and your birthday. Which is a nap and food you didn’t cook. And wine.
She knows how to fasten that pesky hook on the top of all your dresses. On the first try. No swearing necessary (although it’s always encouraged in my house).
She replaces the toilet paper and washes her toothpaste glob out of the sink. If she gets a pubic hair on the soap, she washes it off. She knows where all the cleaning supplies are and, most importantly, she uses them. She even puts shit away when she’s done with it!
(I know, right?!)
Clothes Hamper Location
She’s familiar with the hamper. She knows where it’s located. She knows how to open it. Her dirty stuff is in there. No, she doesn’t have magic clothes. She does it all by herself.
She will say, “Woo! Looking hot! Your ass is hot in those jeans,” at all the appropriate times. And it will be sincere. But on the same note…
The Cold, Hard Truth
“Yeah, those pants make your ass look big,” to which you reply, “Yeah, you’re right,” before you change with no ill feelings whatsoever.
I adore my husband with all his dirty socks and toothpaste globs. BUT, if he kicks off, I’m totally getting myself a wife for the next go round. Preferably one who sews (because I never will), makes a killer red velvet cake (because I use the box kind), swears like a sailor (because I can’t fucking stop), and drinks wine whenever I want (because duh).