I have been with Frank for 23 years and counting. I am very happy in our marriage. Of course, first I had go through the five stages of death: Denial: I’ll help him find his socks this one time. Anger: Find your own %$^#& socks! Bargaining: If I put your socks in the sock drawer, then can you find them?  Depression: I have more value than being a sock finder. And, finally Acceptance: He’ll never know where his stupid socks are. Still, I think he and his fellow husbands can do better. Guys, below find my tips that should get you laid more often.

Tip One: Be thankful you are alive. Husbands have no idea how close to death they are. When you forgot her birthday; when you took apart the carburetor in the kitchen sink; when you adjusted the new projection TV unit and dropped it and killed it; when you forgot to tell her that your fourteen football buddies were on their way over to watch the game; when you were late to work and came screaming in the door because you couldn’t find your keys and ordered her to help you find them—even though she was late to work because she’d already helped you find your briefcase; and last, but not least, when your mother came to visit for a week and you checked out mentally and let her cook and clean and care for dear, old Mom. Each instance she thought about clubbing you over the head with a wine bottle. She thought about sneaking off to Vegas with her friends and leaving you in the lurch. She considered walking out that door and never looking back. But she didn’t. Because she loves you.

Tip Two: Be nice to her. Every guy out there is thinking, “I am nice to her.” No, you’re not. Most of your compliments stay in your head. She cannot read your mind. You actually have to open your mouth and thank her. Think about what she’s done for you today. Not in passing. Not during commercials. Sit down and count the things she did to ensure your life and the lives of your kids were running smoothly. And tell her you appreciate her. We don’t mind taking care of you and the kids. We only mind when you don’t acknowledge our hard work. We mind when you track dirt over the freshly mopped floors. We mind when you stumble in, eat dinner, and get on your computer without acknowledging we exist. We mind when we ask you to do one thing to our sixty for the day and you whine like a seven-year-old. Smile and do whatever she asks. Even if you don’t feel like it. Then you’ll know what’s it’s like to be her.

Tip Three: Be extra nice to her when she’s hormonal. Her hormones are not her fault. Estrogen was not invented to piss off men. We would rather be pleasant. We would rather get up in the morning with a song in our hearts. But we are the mercy of our bodies. So if you wake up and notice that your wife’s hair has turned into snakes and she’s already turned the cat to stone, smile and tell her she looks beautiful. Tell her you love what she’s done with her snakes. If you have a complaint, save it. If you have a favor to ask of her, don’t. Give her a wide berth and tell her how great she looks. How lovely, wonderful and thoughtful she is, even if she isn’t. Do not say things like: “God, you are such a bitch today.” “I like you with a little weight on you.” “Wow. I know just what you’re going to look like at eighty.” “Is it your period?” Unless you want your head melted off by the flames that will be shooting from her mouth.

Tip Four: Micromanaging is not “helping.” Frank says the dumbest things to me. “Heh-heh-heh, really massacring that avocado, aren’t you? I think it’s screaming uncle. Have you thought about using another knife?” My normal response is to bare my teeth and growl at him. Which prompts his next stupid response: “Fine, I was only trying to help.” Which is a total lie. Help is cooking dinner, not telling me how to sauté vegetables “the right way”. Help is washing the window, not making faces at me from the other side of the glass. Help is washing the car, not ripping a sponge out of my hand and giving me a Shiwala—which doesn’t work. Helping is actually doing the task, Frank. Oh. And all you other guys, too.

Tip Five: You are the reason you aren’t having sex more often. Women have to jump through major mental hurdles to have sex. Women have six brains, men have one. Women need all six brains tuned to sex in order to enjoy it. She’s thinking about the dishes and the kids and the bills and the PTA meeting and the thirty-six cupcakes that need to be baked tonight. Helping her with the cupcakes will get you laid faster than grabbing her breasts while she’s trying to cook. Think about setting a mood. Think about seducing her. Like drawing a bath for her, offering a foot rub or surprising her with flowers. Contrary to popular belief, women do not consider the presence of an erection as foreplay. Don’t “wag” it at her to entice her. Don’t talk about your dick in the third person. “Mr. Happy wants some fun!” is not arousing. Don’t refer to it as an inanimate object. For the record, I don’t want to sleep with a sausage. And don’t fart while propositioning her. Engulfing her in a cloud of stench is not sexy. Take a shower. Compliment her. Help with the chores. In other words, work at it, boys. We do everything for you. Don’t make us seduce ourselves, too.

©2010, Janet Periat

Me and the Hubby on vacation in Marina

I’ve been with my current husband for 23 years. People ask me all the time how we stay married and happy. The happy part seems to bewilder people the most. Below find my best advice. Next month, I’ll focus on advising the husbands.

Tip One: Realize that your man is not perfect. In any way, shape or form. They want everything their way all the time—along with wanting all the food and beer. They touch up the garage in the wrong color paint. They destroy your bathroom. They forget your birthday. They lose their jobs. They scream for stupid reasons. They demand you do things that you don’t want to do. They watch TV programs you hate. They fart, grab themselves and expect you to have sex with them, all in the same moment. Get over it.

Tip Two: Do not judge his actions based upon your own. If a woman walks by a huge pile of laundry, it means she’s seen it and is choosing not to fold it. If a man walks by a huge pile of laundry, it’s because he doesn’t recognize it as a pile of laundry. It’s merely part of his environment. Like a wall. This is why he steps over piles of shoes, walks around the full grocery bags on the floor and ignores the dishes in the sink. He honestly does not see the mess. This is why I now fold the clothes on Frank’s desk.

Tip Three: Men are not mind readers. You must tell a man what you expect out of him. Using a billboard, a sky-writing airplane and flash cards. Men don’t “instinctively” know what to do around the house. They can’t tell by your huffing and sighing that you wanted them to unload the dishwasher. They may not even know you own a dishwasher. Most men live in their heads. Both of them. At once. It is your job to tell them what you want. Writing your expectations down is best. In big bold letters. On the centerfold from Playboy magazine.

Tip Four: Men are not listening to you if the TV is on. Men are incapable of carrying on a conversation and watching TV at the same time. They will nod and smile and pretend to understand you to get rid of you, but they’ve not heard a word you’ve said. Unless you’ve said the word “sex.” Now when Frank watches TV, I start all conversations like this: “SEX! Frank could you put away the dishes? SEX! And take out the garbage?”

Tip Five: Men aren’t being mean if they don’t listen to you. They’re just being idiots. They don’t mean anything by it. They have no idea they’re not listening to you. They are crunching batting averages, conjuring their perfect fantasy football team, engineering a new way to take out the garbage that doesn’t involve actually touching it, or trying to get you to have sex. Or they’re thinking about food. They are completely disassociated from their surroundings. This is why I now take off my clothes if I want Frank’s attention. Which works, even if his focus isn’t necessarily on what I’m saying.

Tip Six: Men cannot multi-task. Frank says, “We’re more focused.” Ahem. Genetically, women have had to develop the talent of multi-tasking. Every woman I know can recite the contents of their fridge by heart and the date when the milk expires. They know when the kids have to be at soccer practice, band practice and the Chinese language lab. They know all their kids’ birthdays and kids’ friends’ birthdays. When Mom walks in the door after work at night, she supervises homework, cooks dinner, plans the upcoming family vacation, writes a shopping list and responds to fourteen emails, all at once.

When Dad comes home, he absently puts his briefcase directly in the path of the front door, drops his coat on the sofa, stumbles into the kitchen, kisses his wife—which isn’t easy because she won’t stay in one spot—then he heads to the fridge for a much-needed beer. He notices the TV is on. Cute weatherwoman. Nice rack. Going to be cooler tomorrow. But the sportscaster is all wrong about his team. Suddenly, out of nowhere, his wife screams, “Are you going to help me or stand there like an idiot with your mouth hanging open?” Astonished, he can’t figure out how she got mad so quick when all he did was walk in the door.

This is the point where the woman should point to the billboard in the backyard that says “Help With Dinner When You Get Home If You Ever Want To Have Sex With Me Again.”

Tip Seven: Just because he forgets your birthday or Valentine’s Day, doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you. It means he’s either forgetful or a Hallmark Rebel. Frank doesn’t like having his love shoved in a box of societal expectations and restrictions. In his mind, loving me and buying me stuff have nothing to do with each other. Which sucks. Beating him with the You Don’t Really Love Me Guilt Stick used to net me some cool gifts. But just because I understand he loves me, doesn’t mean I let him off the gift hook. I notify him two weeks before my birthday so he can’t pull the I’ve-been-so-busy-my-computer-died-the-cat-ate-my-date-book automatic response.

Tip Eight: Marriage isn’t fair to either party. He’s the lump that gets in your way and wants sex right after you get off the phone with your mother. You’re the crazy bitch who screams at him for no reason and won’t sleep with him after talking on the phone to whoever that was, he wasn’t listening. Accept this reality. While Hubby needs to come through with his share of financial and emotional support of the family, he is not there to fulfill your every desire. He’s there because you love him. And because he’s a pretty nice guy.

©2010, Janet Periat