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?
Wrong.
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.
But…
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
African-American Culture 101 