So, as a follow-up to the last post, I should tell you that I got my degree in Completely Useless (on scholarship so I didn’t end up with a huge debt load, thank god) and quickly discovered just how useless Completely Useless really is. So I did the only sensible thing: I started looking for a husband. I had a bit of a hit list: things I genuinely thought were important.
Mr. JB would have to be:
Have a great sense of humour
Bring me flowers spontaneously
Love to cook
Love to clean
Enjoy discussing his feelings on every subject
Looks were not important. His job was not important. His family was not important. Those were material things that only the most shallow and superficial of women would care about.
So I hatched a plan and went off to Graduate School and took an MBA, not because I had any desire for a flashy “career”, but because I thought the odds were pretty good that most of my classmates would be men.
And they were. Score!
The first time I met Mr. JB, we were playing a marketing simulation game and I felt I had very cleverly altered my financial statement to disguise a very poor cash flow situation. Mr. JB tore me to pieces instantly. Mercilessly. Not an ounce of remorse. Then he told me it wouldn’t hurt if I brushed my hair.
Readers, I was smitten. The first Alpha Male I had ever been in close contact with. Lots of men THINK they are Alphas, but really, they are just assholes. A true Alpha is a natural leader, unmoved by the mewlings of the Betas around him, confidently striding through life backed up by intelligence, courage and a rock solid sense of himself.
I knew more or less instantly that I wanted to marry him. And I did.
Here’s how Mr. JB stacks up vis-à-vis my list of must have qualities:
Not at all sensitive. If you want something, ask.
Gives less than zero fucks about art
Very funny, but in a way that is honest and often very mocking. Makes me laugh, especially at myself
Could give a shit about literature. He reads extensively, but not novels. Hell no. He has way better things to do with his time.
Poetry? Only if it’s a limerick and involves words that rhyme with hunt
Thinks flowers are exactly like piling up a little stack of money on the table and then setting fire to it. He only brings them to me when he’s been a dick or I’ve just given birth to one of his children. So not very often.
Doesn’t cook a single thing.
Doesn’t clean very much, and honestly, doesn’t really give a shit about how clean things are, except for his clothes and body.
Will discuss his feelings if he feels there is a relevant, rational reason to do so, or if he gets really loaded.
Here are some qualities Mr.JB has that I literally HAD NO IDEA mattered to me:
Protective. Once we started going out seriously, I was under his protection and he would never allow me to be in any situation that put me at risk. If I wanted to go for a run late at night, he put on his shoes and went with me. He never tried to stop me from doing anything, but if he thought there was the slightest bit of danger, he went with me.
Emotionally stable and solid. Mr. JB isn’t given to any great surges of emotion. There is no sweeping romance (of the sort invented by lady novelists), no passionate declarations of love, no overwhelming bursts of happiness or joy (except maybe when our children were born). There are also no fits of rage or jealousy or possessiveness or insecurity. Mr. JB is completely and utterly stable, reliable, strong and steadfast.
Confident, thoughtful and intelligent. Mr. JB does not make snap decisions. He considers the facts, weighs the evidence and reaches conclusions based on rational analysis. This means his decisions are almost always correct. When he makes a decision I do NOT agree with, he will listen to me, provided I have some facts and evidence to back up my position, and he will change his mind if I can present convincing evidence for why he should. How I “feel” does not govern how he acts.
Even writing it down, he sounds like a controlling, intractable dickwad. He is not. He puts the edges on my world, lets me know what the limits are, saves me from myself. I freely admit that I DO make snap decisions (which are often wrong), base a lot of decisions on how I “feel” and just generally fly through life overly optimistic that everything will work out fine.
It does work out fine, because Mr. JB makes sure that it does.
I asked him once why he married me, a judgy bitch if ever there was one. He said it’s because he knew I would keep him from turning into the controlling curmudgeon he sounds so dangerously close to being. I read him poetry (he pays no attention but I do it anyway). He watches adaptations of Jane Austen novels with me on DVD, our home is lovely and colourful and warm and welcoming (although usually pretty messy), I take great delight in producing fabulous meals and entertaining guests and just generally making sure that our lives are filled with friends and love and happiness. He makes the living and I make the living worthwhile.
Win – win!
The point here is that modern culture and media and feminism teaches women that the qualities they should look for in a man are the ones that women value IN THEMSELVES. But men are not women. They bring something completely different into a relationship. Strength. Reliability. Confidence. Steadfastness. Loyalty.
If you want to be a wife, as I did, you don’t get those things for free. And really, why should you? The cost for a man who can be completely and utterly depended upon is kindness, warmth, food, sex and love.
In other words, be a woman.
Try it. You might like it.
Lots of love,