SomaCow

Marriage is an institution within which a man can aspire to become better than he already is, through the guidance of a woman leading him on the road to enlightenment.

(Just kiddin’, guys, I only put that up there because I figured your wives were reading over your shoulders right now. At this point, though, I think it’s safe to assume that she is off attending to some important cleaning behind the refrigerator, or ordering ridiculously expensive “window treatments” (what you and I call “bed sheets”), so we can now talk openly.)

Don’t get me wrong, I love women, but there is a sure-fire indicator that a wife has driven her husband totally nuts: he starts sentences by saying “Don’t get me wrong, I love women, but…”

As far as I can tell, there are only two problems with marriage:

1. There are too many women involved.
2. Those women are reluctant to wear the sexy Little Bo Peep costume that you rented from “Whores D’Oeuvres”.

Mickey seems to have a big problem with the fact that wives can become ex-wives, at which point it costs you half of your hard-earned money. But when you consider that women make up over half of the work force, half of every penny that you currently earn and spend goes straight to them anyway. The women then spend that money on purchases from diet and fitness infomercials featuring Suzanne Somers. The difference appears to be that when you hand your money to a cashier (or waitress, or stripper), you get satisfying goods and/or services in return; whereas, when you hand your money to your ex-wife, you get stories about how her new boyfriend Todd managed to convince her finally to try anal sex, and now she can’t get enough of it.

As far as grounds for divorce goes, Florida appropriately treats it like car insurance: we’re a no-fault state. We should thank God for this, guys, because, in other states, your wife can divorce you for using the ice dispenser while Grey’s Anatomy is on, or for not refilling the potpourri containers in a timely manner. In those states, YOU, an innocent bystander in your marriage, can have the blame placed squarely on your shoulders for not seeing mediocre, quarterly sex as sufficient motive to get out of bed at 3am to check the house, because your wife dreamed that lawn maintenance workers had invaded the living room and were putting their muddy feet up on the chaise lounge while smoking cigars with no ashtrays.

Mickey’s vision also contains a crapload of paperwork. I hate paperwork more than you will someday hate Todd.
I went paperless in 1998 and, apart from some bathroom scenarios that I’m still working on, it has been smooth sailing ever since.
My solution is simple: don’t get married by a minister with a bible, get married by a judge with a video camera. This way, if there is ever any question about what the expectations were going in, you can just call up the judge and say “Your Honor, did she or did she not agree that it is perfectly allowable for me to throw my boxer-briefs NEAR the hamper, not necessarily IN the hamper?”
Case closed.

My best advice to you guys is to wait before getting married. This means two things: you should wait until later in life, when your schedule is not so much driven by which Playstation games were released that week; and that ,you should wait until later in your relationship with a woman before deciding to get married. Remember, every day that you are with her and DON’T get married is another day that you have at least a CHANCE of saying or doing something right for once; a day that you have at least a CHANCE to convince her that a threesome with the hot, busty receptionist at her office would really be a treat for HER; a day that you have at least a CHANCE of discovering a reason that you two should go ahead and break up now, while it’s still free.

I’m going to let you guys figure out the rest on your own. I’ll be over here hacking Todd’s Facebook to make fictitious posts saying how much he likes little boys. And lawn maintenance workers.