You understand the picture above? It's
not too far off from the genuine condition, I swear.
OK, I've never been married so I don't
know all those intimate dynamics that can occur. That's why it shocks
me when I see husbands accidentally reveal how short a leash they're
on. “It really does EXIST!” I say to myself.
I've known some husbands who were
slightly corralled but I didn't know the full extent. That's what was
astonishing to me, the degree it can be taken.
Over this past holiday weekend, I was
singled out by a couple of wives as, “You can't play with that one
anymore, he's a bad influence!” I'll get to this later, but
first...
At McCoy's fireworks, I cracked open a
beer and handed to my friend. He raises it to his mouth and I noticed
he shot a hard, left look to his wife, who was standing about
twenty-five feet away and he takes one swallow. He recaps the beer
and hands it back to me. “Yueling is too strong.”
“Too strong?” I think. It's a
slightly, just barely, a hoppier beer than that rice/water beer,
Budweiser. This guy used to love Canadian Moosehead or St Pauli Girl
which is far heavier than any of the light Pilsner's made in this
country.
A few seconds later and I “get it.”
He was seen imbibing by the Queen. That's a no-no.
Now I've known this guy for years. He
has the identical chance at becoming an alcoholic as a dead Pope has.
He always was like this.
The finale rack is fired and people
turn to one another to talk, now that the show is over. As I was
speaking to my friend, I see his wife pile the kids into the SUV.
She's now in the passenger seat, leans over and pop's open the
driver's door and then just sits there, looking at us.
About six seconds later, he notices
this and hurriedly rushes our conversation to an end.
“Well, time to go! It's late! (It was
9:50pm) I'll see ya sometime soon.”
He walks towards the truck. I stand
there with my mouth half-open as I witness this.
I then see other wives corralling their
husbands to other SUVs and I think, “Well, this is over.”
I walk to my car, with a ear to ear
smirk on my face, knowing just what has occurred.
**
On a different night, I watched another
husband escape the kennel for a couple of hours. This one I've known
for a bit less time than previous one but we're closer in age. Now
that he was out of kennel, and that he was kept in
one for far too long, he acted like any dog does when freed. They go
crazy and run all over.
John was pounding down the beer, eating
burgers, dogs and anything else that wasn't too raw. He bopped from
one circle of friends to another chatting it up. He even got on a
temporary dance floor that was set together by the river with a few
girls.
I haven't seen him do this since...I'd
say the late 90's. When he was married, he sort of dropped off the
edge of the Earth. But I'd see him on occasion, with the wife, but he
was thoroughly domesticated in her presence. Neutered, tamed and
housebroken.
Around 11PM, the Queen arrives at the
party.
By this time, John's got a bang-up buzz
and acting like the guy I knew when he was younger. He was vibrant,
animated and alive. She comes onto the scene and
the first comment she makes to him is:
“How did you get mustard on your
shirt?”
Now this is something a Mother would
say to her 10 year old son.
Of course he had mustard on his shirt!
He also has beer stains on it. He's been eating Hibachi food and
drinking. I had grass stains on my pants, am barefoot and I smell of
BBQ sauce and saltpeter from fireworks. After her comment I think,
“This isn't a formal dinner. This is a backyard party where you get
silly buzzed and dirty.”
With the Queen there, the
transformation in John took seconds, literally seconds. The
spontaneity in him dropped dead like a heart attack would drop you to
the sidewalk. She might as well have taken out a napkin, dipped it
in water and tried to remove the mustard stain while muttering,
“Where would you be without me?”
Then the two found an open space at the
tables, sat down and and became sedate. Respectable, staid and
predictable...a nice picture of a stable life well lived. (Picture me
shoving my finger into my mouth, making gagging and puking sounds)
After a bit, I go over, with a fresh
beer for John and sit down. I aim my attention at the Queen to
placate her, bring her into the festivities, make her one of us. I
get a stare, a cold shoulder and am finally asked, “Do you know
what time it is?”
Jesus H. Christ...
“Yeah, it's 11:45” I say
Then the two have quick conversation
only marrieds can have. Under the breath, very quiet and meant only
for them. I know what it is, it's the talk, the preparation to leave
in about ten minutes. PS. There is no babysitter to get home to and
pay.
Eventually they leave.
**
I've heard guys give thanks for their
good luck to have been married. Some were drinkers, others fuck ups
and others did need the stabilizing influence that marriage can
bring. Some actually became better people because of it. OK, I
accept that. Some of the ones I did know, before they got married,
needed their claws clipped as they were wild.
But...then there were the others who
were in no danger of being rounded up by the dog catcher to be put to
sleep for being feral. It's those guys I felt bad for, and am shocked
to see how deeply they've been castrated. And, how their wives look
upon me as a pimp/drug dealer/bad influence/and infected with
disease.
No, I'm not going to hold your husband
down while I pour liquor down his throat. I'm not procuring
prostitutes for them either. Your husband will not be found in jail,
with charges of lewdness and lasciviousness, after being goaded by
me.
What I will do is this. I will play!
But it requires the right people and a few
margaritas to start. Playtime involves risk, going to the boundaries
and allowing that part of yourself that that gets suppressed for the
sake of “looking normal” to come out. We're all older adults now
and we know how far to push it. That's where the fun is. The fun is
in teasing the Big Junkyard Dog. The fun is in moderate danger that
can be managed quick. What danger? Looking like the fool. Teasing the
wives. Unashamedly chasing the single girls. Drinking till you're
silly but not dumb enough to drive. Eating crap food that'll go
straight to your belly. Slightly damaging your own rep because you
chased fun. Fun that creates stories for a few years.
The Who has a great song that explains
this “pushing it to the boundary” but not over the cliff.
No crisis!
Just you having fun
There's no crisis!
Getting burned by the sun
You got no crisis!
This is true
This is no social crisis
Just another tricky day
for you!
“Burned by the sun” is a
great way to have fun. Just push it a bit further than usual. But
for some I know, their wives slather them in SPF 500 sun block. Or
don't allow them to go out at all.
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