Rules for Marriage? Ask Someone In Love With a Dead Guy…

My talent for detail as to the lives of reality housewives is rarely appreciated. That is until a young one, Middle Chicken friend, alerts me there is reality housewife news I must see if I wish to live to snark another day. Background on this little one: Amazeballs fashionista girl rocking law school. She’s known to chastise any dolt who steps on her Alexander McQueen scarf with a Skechers sneaker and she shares in my distaste for the world’s lack of style. She is the most brilliant blond I know and just might be able to match my snark, on a good day. Information she provides does not disappoint.

Perhaps Law School Fashionista sensed my ambivalence with continuing jersey housewife drama and sent this gem along. Strap on your seatbelts girls–the ride is a bumpy one. Has anyone read Melissa Gorga’s book, “Love Italian Style?” You know, the one advocating wife rape, slapping her around when she misbehaves and teaching daughters to be sex slaves to brutish husbands? Yes, dolls, the book is out and it’s as shocking as Melissa believing she can sing.

Husbands want their wives to submit; wives want our husbands to dominate.” Say again? I didn’t hear you correctly. My head just exploded.

The routine of making dinner and keeping a clean house is how I stay grounded. It keeps me humble. When gender roles are confused, sexual roles are too. If he’s at the sink and then changing diapers, then who throws down in the bed? In our marriage, Joe is always the man, doing masculine things. I’m the woman, and I do the female things, including housework.” Tears are rolling down my face I am laughing so hard.

On raising boys and girls she professes: “My sons can have a separate entrance to the house. They can come and go as they wish. They can have anyone up to their room. I don’t care.” Except for the chlamydia and crabs, it’s all good.

Her prize of a husband adds, “I don’t feed babies or change diapers. My father never wiped my ass and I don’t wipe my babies’ either.” This ingrate also notes, “The way I see it is if a wife is a puttana (Italian for prostitute), her husband will never feel the urge to go outside the marriage to actual whores, or strip clubs.” I just threw up in my mouth a little.

One more–can’t resist. “Men, I know you think your woman isn’t the type who wants to be taken. But trust me, she is. Every girl wants to get her hair pulled once in a while. If your wife says no, turn her around and rip her clothes off. She wants to be dominated. Women don’t realize how easy men are. Just give us what we want.” Turn me around and rip my clothes off and I will cut you.

Melissa also boasts if she gets out of line, she may get hit and deserve it. She always gives in to sex because then she doesn’t get any flack and he’s less likely to “go off on her.”

Let’s put aside for a moment the fact that these two are obviously insane. My biggest worry is not that this guy slaps his wife around and she likes it. That’s their business. It’s that she put it out there in public and some girl might believe this shit. Girls might believe they should be treated as possessions, maids, hookers and broodmares.

Let a widow married twenty seven years, still in love with a dead guy, clear up a few things.

One: Who will take down in the bedroom? Whoever the hell wants to for God sake you dipshit. You need instructions? This is a mutual thing–whoever wants to, have at it. This is not hard–oops, yes it is, and you may need to help with that too. But, because you are equal in your sexual relationship, you won’t mind.

Two: Melissa says girls don’t poop. On this we agree. No explanation–just don’t. Him either. Gouging out your eyes will be your only recourse.

Three: She says dress to please your man. Whaaa? Dumbass. Dress to please yourself. If your man wants to dress you, it better be in a costume you’ve both agreed on and he better have Christian Gray skills to start talking that shit. Constant sweatpants with no shower will eventually turn away even the most patient of men. Women, on the other hand, will get sick of that shit really fast. Don’t do it guys.

Four: “If he gets one ounce of flack from me, I will get it,” she says. Wait, I have to pick up my jaw. If your man gets physical, hire a hit man, clear out the bank account, see a lawyer and get the hell out of Dodge. Melissa, dear, selling your soul for money is your choice. Selling your soul for a beat down is quite another.

Five: He doesn’t wear a wedding ring ‘cuz his fingers are fat. If the two of you agree the wedding ring is no big deal then it isn’t. But if it eats away at your insides, the man wears a ring or he’s an asshole. This is kindergarten stuff. Respect each others wishes. The Norwegian wore a ring because I wanted any bitch near him to know he was taken and she, therefore, had no excuse when I kicked her ass.

Six: She says, give in whenever he wants. Is he a fucking cave man?

I advise the chickens and all my little ones on marriage, with and without their asking. It’s important not to ignore your intimate life. There is no other part of marriage which involves no one else, we hope. No kids, no in-laws, no jobs, no worries. Let that flame go out and it’s hard to reignite. Be the soft place to land. Be the safe harbor in a storm. Respect the needs and wishes of your spouse. Harsh words cannot be unsaid. This is the person you love more than anyone else on earth. You pledged in front of God. Treat that person as any less and you, my friend, are the shitty spouse.

The rules of marriage, unlike Melissa’s bullshit, aren’t about how a woman keeps her man. The rules are about how we hold fast to each other and build a life which includes still loving a dead guy.


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