Suddenly, you’re 4 years old and lost at the circus. You’re near tears: “Honey? Honey—” You’re sitting in people’s laps: “Sorry, wrong row.… Honey, where are you? … I got the Gummi Bears you wanted.…”
If you can’t find the seats, you’ve got to go to the front row and walk up the entire aisle, in plain view of everyone, hoping your partner will see you and come to your rescue. Of course, they’re watching the movie at thispoint, and the last thing they’re thinking about is
you.
So you’re wandering up and down the aisle like an idiot. “Help me … somebody … don’t you see I’m dying here?” You’re standing in front of a crowd with your arms full of crap
you
didn’t even want. “Someone pull me out of this hell!”
You bump into other guys who are just as lost.
“Honey?!”
“Babe?!”
“Sweetheart?!”
“Hey,
my
wife is ‘sweetheart.’ ”
“Sorry … HONEY?”
That’s all you hear: men whining, and women whispering men’s names loudly.
“Steve! Steve!
”
“
Leonard!
”
“Mitchell! I’m over here!”
It’s pathetic. In this situation, my advice is—sit next to
any
woman, it doesn’t matter who. And just level with her. “Look, Mitchell is not coming back. I just saw him go into the wrong theater, so he won’t be back for some time. My wife is sitting with a guy named Steve, Steve is with Leonard’s wife—it’s all screwed up. But I’m a guy, I got popcorn, it’s the same exact thing. So just tell me what I missed. What happened so far?”
You watch the movie, and you settle up afterward.
T here are other benefits to having a Permanent Partner.
Ever been invited somewhere you really don’t want to go? If you’re married, you always have someone else to
blame.
“Next Saturday? You know, I’d love to, but I’m pretty sure my wife made plans.… Yeah, let me check with her and get back to you.”
Of course, I try to weasel out of getting back to them, too.
“You know, honey, I really think
you
should call them. After all, they’re
your
friends.… Alright, they’re
my
friends, but you met them, didn’t you? Well, there you go. Besides, they like you better. I’ll tell you what.
I’ll
dial and
you
talk to them. Is that fair? We’ll split it 50–50.”
T hree weeks ago, my wife tells me we’re going to a party for a woman she works with who is going to have a baby. I’m uneasy.
“What is this—like a
shower?
”
She says, “No, it’s not a shower. It’s a party.”
“There going to be guys there?” I ask.
She says, “Yes, there’ll be guys there.”
Then it hit me: when did
this
happen? I spent the first big chunk of my life wondering if there were going to be
girls
there; now I’m checking to make sure there are
guys
there. Something has changed.
You see, single men judge social events solely by How Many Women Are Going to Be There. It’s what they ask before they go, and what they talk about when they get back. No matter what the event. It could be a funeral. “Man, you should have seen this woman sitting behind the widow. Was she
gorgeous.
”
It could be anything. A soccer riot. “I was pressed against this girl from Santiago you would not believe.”
But now that I’m married and no longer looking to meet women, I want to make sure there are other married guys there, so I’m not the only one not meeting women.
In fact, it’s not about
meeting
women. It’s a matter of Balance. There’s a Guy-to-Girl Ratio that makes us comfortable, and we’re always checking that ratio.
That’s why the minute somebody has a baby, that’s the first question: “Boy or girl?” You need to know. We’re keeping track. A perpetual, universal head count: how many boys, how many girls. “So, what’d they have—boy or a girl? Which is it? The Penis Model, or the Not-So-Much-A-Penis Model? Either one is great, I just need to know.”
No wonder we’re all so consumed with sex: from the second we’re born,
If you can’t find the seats, you’ve got to go to the front row and walk up the entire aisle, in plain view of everyone, hoping your partner will see you and come to your rescue. Of course, they’re watching the movie at thispoint, and the last thing they’re thinking about is
you.
So you’re wandering up and down the aisle like an idiot. “Help me … somebody … don’t you see I’m dying here?” You’re standing in front of a crowd with your arms full of crap
you
didn’t even want. “Someone pull me out of this hell!”
You bump into other guys who are just as lost.
“Honey?!”
“Babe?!”
“Sweetheart?!”
“Hey,
my
wife is ‘sweetheart.’ ”
“Sorry … HONEY?”
That’s all you hear: men whining, and women whispering men’s names loudly.
“Steve! Steve!
”
“
Leonard!
”
“Mitchell! I’m over here!”
It’s pathetic. In this situation, my advice is—sit next to
any
woman, it doesn’t matter who. And just level with her. “Look, Mitchell is not coming back. I just saw him go into the wrong theater, so he won’t be back for some time. My wife is sitting with a guy named Steve, Steve is with Leonard’s wife—it’s all screwed up. But I’m a guy, I got popcorn, it’s the same exact thing. So just tell me what I missed. What happened so far?”
You watch the movie, and you settle up afterward.
T here are other benefits to having a Permanent Partner.
Ever been invited somewhere you really don’t want to go? If you’re married, you always have someone else to
blame.
“Next Saturday? You know, I’d love to, but I’m pretty sure my wife made plans.… Yeah, let me check with her and get back to you.”
Of course, I try to weasel out of getting back to them, too.
“You know, honey, I really think
you
should call them. After all, they’re
your
friends.… Alright, they’re
my
friends, but you met them, didn’t you? Well, there you go. Besides, they like you better. I’ll tell you what.
I’ll
dial and
you
talk to them. Is that fair? We’ll split it 50–50.”
T hree weeks ago, my wife tells me we’re going to a party for a woman she works with who is going to have a baby. I’m uneasy.
“What is this—like a
shower?
”
She says, “No, it’s not a shower. It’s a party.”
“There going to be guys there?” I ask.
She says, “Yes, there’ll be guys there.”
Then it hit me: when did
this
happen? I spent the first big chunk of my life wondering if there were going to be
girls
there; now I’m checking to make sure there are
guys
there. Something has changed.
You see, single men judge social events solely by How Many Women Are Going to Be There. It’s what they ask before they go, and what they talk about when they get back. No matter what the event. It could be a funeral. “Man, you should have seen this woman sitting behind the widow. Was she
gorgeous.
”
It could be anything. A soccer riot. “I was pressed against this girl from Santiago you would not believe.”
But now that I’m married and no longer looking to meet women, I want to make sure there are other married guys there, so I’m not the only one not meeting women.
In fact, it’s not about
meeting
women. It’s a matter of Balance. There’s a Guy-to-Girl Ratio that makes us comfortable, and we’re always checking that ratio.
That’s why the minute somebody has a baby, that’s the first question: “Boy or girl?” You need to know. We’re keeping track. A perpetual, universal head count: how many boys, how many girls. “So, what’d they have—boy or a girl? Which is it? The Penis Model, or the Not-So-Much-A-Penis Model? Either one is great, I just need to know.”
No wonder we’re all so consumed with sex: from the second we’re born,
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