Archive for February, 2014

Super Bowl Party Pooper!

I get this kind of letter each year around Super Bowl time. Some of you wives really need to get a grip. Here goes…

Dear Dr. Matlock,

Every year for the Super Bowl, I throw a beer/BBQ bash for me and about ten other guys, nothing fancy, just burgers, brats, and a nice cold keg. Great, right?


This year, the missus accidentally scheduled her book reading club on the same day, and she says it’s too late to change locations, and her book club meeting requires, and I quote, “a quiet milieu, conducive to thoughtful contemplation and verbal interaction.” Of course I hit the roof, but she said that I had the party every year, and it was time one of the other guys hosted, but I have, by far, the biggest TV, and, since it’s at my house, I get to sit in my own super cushioned chair! All of the other guys either have wives who refuse to host it, or have crappy TV/seating arrangements. Needles to say, the temperature at my house has cooled tremendously, especially at night, if you know what I mean. Geez! Dr. Matlock, what should I do?

Super Bummed in Seattle

Hoo, boy. Super Bum has a real problem, and my first reaction was to delay my response to him, especially being a Saints fan and all. We could’a won that game, if that dimwit had just stepped out of bounds instead of trying to pass…but I digress. Out of the kindness of my heart, I gave Super Bum the best of Dr. Matlock’s secret to marital bliss, especially during football season:

Dear Super Bummed in Seattle,

First of all, congrats to you and the 12th Man. (To you women who are reading this, it’s our secret way of referring to the Illuminati. Keep that hushety-hush, y’hear?) Seattle’s gonna bring it, and ol’ Peyton’s gonna have to move to Omaha to avoid the Legion of Boom! Ha!

Speaking of “Boom!” your wife just laid the wood to you, m’boy. I’m gonna do you a big favor, and send you a free copy of my best-selling book How to Keep the Females Who Infest Your House in Check.  Pay careful attention to Chapter 3, Nothing They Do Is By Accident, because if you think she scheduled that “book club” meeting on the BIGGEST day of the year, you, m’boy, are delusional.

Straight up.

Let me tell you what your first mistake was. You married a woman….(some would stop there, but that would open an extra-large can of worms, now wouldn’t it?)…who uses the word “milieu.” And joined a book club, for gosh sakes! You should have insisted she join a cooking club, or some other useful pastime for females!

Your second mistake, believe it or not, was not letting her know, well, WELL in advance, when the SB was scheduled. I know, I know, it means actually having to hold a conversation with her, but you knew the kind of season the ‘Hawks were having, you should have smelled the burgers and brats months ago. Dang, you stooopid!

Anyway, let’s not cry over the spilled estrogen, okay? I, Dr. Matlock, HNIC, has not one,but two, count ’em, TWO solutions to your sticky little dilemma. The key to both is your wife’s innate female curiosity. You see, what you’re going to do first is apologize for your insensitive and boorish behavior….

You heard me, apologize! Every mousetrap needs a piece of cheese, and, to catch a female, an apology is the most fragrant bait on the market! Ha!

Step One involves going to the local mortuary, and asking for a leftover flower or two. They’re usually free for the asking. No need to actually buy flowers for this; you need your loot for beer and snacks! Besides, what she doesn’t know just makes you look better.

Take those flowers and present them to her, using Expression #19, Sheepish & Contrite, illustrated on page 32. Tell her you’re sorry for being so insensitive; of course she can use your home as a sanctuary for quiet contemplation, making sure you keep a straight face. No need to alarm the little mouse prematurely.

Flush with victory, she will pretend to be concerned about you watching the SB, so she will ask, “Well, what about you? What will you do?”

Ah, m’boy, the trap is set! You can’t stay home to watch the SB; you’ll disrupt the milieu. You’re going to go, with all your buddies, to the rowdiest, noisiest bar in town; a few scantily clad babes with big ‘uns serving drinks won’t hurt, either.


You won’t tell her where you’re going, not directly, anyway. To paraphrase Elmer Fudd, “Be vague…be vewwy, vewwy vague!” Spend the next few days, smiling and humming, as if the idea of a SB party at home was a mere boyhood prank. Every time she asks you “Honey, where did you say you were going for the SB?” smile, and say, “I didn’t,” and walk away…

Well, try to walk away. She won’t let you! That’s how you’ll know you have her hooked; she can’t let you walk off with an unsolved mystery! Now, you have to be strong! She’s going to beg, plead, get mad, refuse to speak to you (yaay!), refuse to do a few other things for you as well (wink, wink), but as long as you keep mum, the little missus will remain hooked. You got her by the ovaries, my boy! Don’t let go!

Early, on SB Sunday,  start your prep. Shower an extra five minutes, put some of her mousse in your hair, shave, slap on a little of that after shave she bought you for Christmas (not too much, now), all while humming and singing softly to yourself. Let her catch you in a little dance step, you know, work it! Make her know that you’re going to Have A Good Time Without Her.

When she attempts Female Tactic #15B–Wounded Feelings, gently remind her that she’s the cause of it. “Honey, you’re the one that invited your book club to my house on SBS, not me.” Say it softly; the trick is to make her be the Unreasonable One, got it?

At approximately 1/2 hour before her book club meeting is scheduled to start, let her know you’re leaving. Smile; here comes her nuclear weapon: “If you walk out this house, don’t come back!” Keep smiling; resist the effort to tell her anything! That’s what she wants, conversation….

End Part One


He’s Baaaaaaacccckkkk!!!!!!

Hello, there, took a little longer than I thought to return. I won’t dwell on recent events; may I suggest A Cup of Coffee For The Soul, or one of my other friends on my blogroll for a proper perspective.

Me, I’m looking to perform a public service of a different kind: marital advice!

Yes, I, Dr. Matlock, HNIC, will delve into the wonderful abyss called marriage. Just this week, I received a letter from a befuddled gentleman who simply wanted to enjoy the fruits of matrimony, and, being the public servant that I am, I decided to help him. Our correspondence went like this…


Dear Gentle Readers:

I will continue to pour oil on the troubled waters of matrimony, by giving men and women a better understanding of the strange, befuddling creature they thought was a good idea to marry. There is no charge for this service, just the warm feeling Dr. Matlock receives, knowing he is contributing to the reduction in the Louisiana divorce rate. Last column, we were helping a young man who had a problem with communicating with his wife. We successfully guided him through an evening at a restaurant, and now we shall sharpen his game in the bedroom. Let’s read the rest of his letter…


Dear Dr. Matlock….Then when we get home, she gets mad at me because I like to read before I go to bed, but she wants me to watch TV with her. She claims I never spend enough time with her, but geez! I’ve just spent two hours fussing with her, and the last thing I need before I go to sleep is her in my ear. I love her, but I’m frustrated. Can you help?


Sleepless in St. Martinville


Sleepless, let’s deal with your bedtime problem. You want to read, she wants to talk. There are two key concepts that need exploring and clarification. One is “bed”, the other is “talk.” These two concepts mean vastly different things to men and women. Let’s start with “bed.”


The female definition of “bed” is the place where a variety of important activities take place, such as nurturing of children, conversing on the telephone, meditation on important issues of the day, sampling exotic herbal teas, consuming comfort foods, watching Lifetime movies, watching LMN movies, watching The Food Network, making love, servicing one’s husband/significant other (not to be confused with lovemaking), snuggling with the family pet, plus a myriad of activities too numerous to mention here, and, when any/all of this is completed, sleep. The bed is made up daily, and the sheets changed biweekly, more often post-coital.


The male definition of “bed” is the place where two major events take place. Sex, and sleep. In that order. Any other activity is conducted as a prelude to the two major aforementioned events, or is something the female does while the male is in the middle of performing either of the two major events. Bed making is something the female indulges in, and the sheets are changed when body fluids have rendered them to a crisp and crackly crunch. Every 2 months, maybe.


“Talk” to a female, is the verbal/nonverbal expression of thoughts, hopes, dreams, ideas, opinions, questions, conjectures, declarations, gossip and fact, and is the means by which she connects to her loved ones, confronts her enemies, and interacts with her inner self. Essential to life, 95% of all female activity involves talk, and indeed, any activity that does not incorporate talk is considered unnecessary, unimportant, and unworthy of participation.


“Talk” to a male is the use of words to convey facts. It is an activity only performed in conjunction with vital functions such as golf, dominoes, haircuts, poker, and sporting events. In the company of a female, it is to be kept to a minimum, except in the pursuit of sex or food. Talking with a female carries with it an inherent risk of conflict, or, worse yet, boredom. When a female says “We need to talk,” men emotionally run to the nearest exit.


Herein lies your problem. You and your wife are in the same room physically, but emotionally you’re not even on the same planet. She’s on Venus, you’re on Mars, remember? She believes that there are hundreds of things that you can do in this room, but you know better. A little known fact: women use approximately 25,000 words per day, men, only 10-12,000. By the time you walk into this room at the end of the day, you have nearly depleted your daily quota, and the few you have left are reserved in pursuit of the first of the only two major activities you are interested in. She, however, has several thousand words in reserve, willing soldiers ready to do battle….with you.


So, what do you do? This will not be easy to hear. You must encourage her to talk. (I’ll wait a moment to let your howls of protest to die down. There, that’s better.) “But Doc! I don’t want her to talk!” you exclaim. Yes, you do, my son. Why? Because talking is the lubricant that keeps all her other body parts operating at peak efficiency. Talking is also the spark plug that fires the engine of the activity you’re really interested in, whether it’s a hot meal, or some hot…well, you know. Remember, whatever body part is your ultimate goal, it all starts with her lips.


There is something you must keep in mind. Contentment, to a woman, is a temporary condition at best. (Blame Eve.) So, when she sees you laying there (lying there? Whatever.) happily reading a book, an activity that does not involve 1—talking; and 2—talking with her, well, that won’t do, no sir. She feels a need to be connected with you, and your face buried in a book won’t cut it. So, put the book down, perhaps on the night stand. You work this right and she’ll be happy to let you get back to it. Maybe.


Take a deep breath, silently, of course, you don’t want her to think this is an effort on your part (even though it is.) She is convinced that conversation with her is a pleasant activity, and any action on your part on the contrary only serves to bruise her delicate psyche, and shuts down any possibility of you seeing action on the Southern Frontier. Now, ask her this simple question: “Honey, what is this movie about?”


At first, she will be suspicious. A male issuing an invitation to talk can mean only one thing. She’s right, of course, but that’s half the fun. (Why buy 2% at the gas station when there’s a cow in your bedroom just a-beggin’ to be milked?)  She will narrow her eyes at you, looking for a hint of an ulterior motive. Don’t look at her, look at the television. (Later, when your skills have progressed to the point where you can pull it off, then, and only then, do you gaze deeply into her eyes and say the magic words, “Talk to me.” But you’re not there yet, so don’t try it, Rookie.) Keep your eyes on the television, and when she hesitates, being unconvinced of your sincerity, ask another question about the movie. It doesn’t matter what you ask, it’s not like you really want to know, you just want her talking. A question to a woman is like a worm to a bass, they simply can’t resist. Just don’t try to set the hook too quickly. Let her talk.


For the first three minutes, keep your hands to yourself. Remember, if you try to strike too quickly, you’ll only spook the fish, making it that much harder the next time. Remember, the trick is to make her think it’s her idea. When you make your first move, do not, I repeat, do not attempt a landing in a major city. An outlying village, such as her fingers or her hair, is generally the better strategy, simply because if you’re confronted, it’s easier to deny having any ulterior motive other than to talk. Once your sincerity is established, and she’s convinced you are actually engaged in conversation, the rest is duck soup.


Five minutes into her talking, smile, and shake your head. Get ready, you’ve just engendered curiosity. Curiosity, my boy, kills the cat. Every time. At this point, she must ask the question: “What’s the matter?”

Bingo! You are mere moments away from The Promised Land. Stay calm, and keep your answer simple: “Nothing…I just like listening to you talk.”



That sound you hear is the gurgle of fresh milk. Drink deeply, son, you deserve it.


You do know you have to talk to her afterwards, right? Sleep, like sex, must be earned. But if you’ve laid the hammer like you’re supposed to, post-cookie conversation is on your terms. Now’s a good time to put in your breakfast order, and let her know there’s more where that came from, if she doesn’t burn the toast.


Hey, a man has to get his pleasure where he can. Speaking of that, I wonder what channel Ms. Matlock has the TV on tonight? Hmmmm……