Nah. Not forever. Just for several hours a day. Or, two or three, you know?
I’m not talking to you men who are “hobbyists.” Those of you who fish, kayak, bird watch, build stuff or go to the gym, regularly. Or even, you dudes who have “side hustles” in the form of women who aren’t your wives.
No. My plea is for you couch potatoes who are at a loss as to how to use all the extra time on your hands and have turned “needy” into a cottage industry.
Look. We wives get it. It was time for you to retire. You did your penance. Where the shit gets iffy, though, is, that we’re not sure your version of “retirement” jibes with ours.
Here’s an example for you guys who are easily confused. Taking care of a house, making that house a home, entails a shit ton of work. For the most part, I venture to say that it’s still us gals who are shouldering most of the responsibility here.
Do you prefer your clothes to be clean? Your bed freshly made before you get into it at night? Your cupboards stocked with stuff you can actually eat? Your bills paid on time?
Then, get off your saggy asses and give us a hand. Here’s the deal, though. If you can’t find it within yourselves to help us wives who are running ourselves into the ground while you’re parked in front of the tube, take a shower, get dressed in the clothes we laundered for you, and GTFO of the house.
I know what you’re thinking all you Needy McNeedledums, so please understand that this directive doesn’t mean we don’t love you. Rather, we’re trying to express the fact that we love ourselves, as well. Now, I don’t want to get into specifics, or get all cringy, here, but, did it ever occur to you that your wives feel the need to…relieve themselves, from time to time?
Yes! It’s true! Some of us still need sex and, if it can only be with ourselves, so be it. Just because you forgot that the appendage between your legs isn’t merely for making peepee, that doesn’t mean we have. But, women are resourceful. If need be, we’ll make do with a manufactured member and be glad of it.
But, for that, dudes, you need to leave the abode every now and then so we can make a date with ourselves to mas##rbate. It doesn’t matter if you’re in one part of the house and we’re in the other. We just can’t do it while you’re there. Capiche?
Ladies, you know what I’m talking about. Right?
And, even if interfering with ourselves isn’t on our agenda, we still need our “me time,” guys, even if it’s to dance like banshees alone in our kitchens while barking out our favorites to Alexa.
Alexa gets it, by the way.
Okay. I imagine you’re thinking, “Where the hell am I supposed to go?” If you use your noodle, you can come up with plenty of destinations that won’t break the bank but will still afford us the break we deserve.
Are you a reader? How about the library? Remember those? I’m betting you have one in your community just waiting to be checked out. Along with the librarian, who could be a woman eager for an attentive male to tell her how sexy she looks in her horn-rimmed glasses.
Okay. I know that’s derivative but I couldn’t help myself.
Let’s see. What else? You could grab your tablet or laptop and head over to a coffee shop where you can start on that novel you said you wanted to write way back when. Or, dust off your Facebook account so you can stalk old girlfriends.
Are you sensing a pattern, here?
Anyway, if you have a dog, you can take it to the dog park where you can both get some exercise because, dudes, sitting on your asses twenty-four/seven is not a good look. For anyone. Too, there may be a hot babe or two walking their own dog.
Oh, sh#t. I did it again. My bad.
In the case of inclement weather, you can sit in your car and listen to the radio. Make sure that the garage door is open, though!
Do you see what I mean? You have plenty of options and no doubt, you can rustle up a few more on your own. Even though, we know that bit about being “on your own” is somewhat foreign to you. That’s okay. You’ll get into a groove, get your sea legs, so to speak, and you may not want to come back home. Ever.
Ladies, we don’t want that, though, do we? Hell, no. And, we realize that, because retirement takes some getting used to, we need to be extra-patient. Even more so than we normally are.
Yes! We are patient! Exceedingly so! When we’re in the bathroom, with the door closed, sucking on a pint of Wolfschmidt, that’s called patience!
So, retired husbands, take it on the chin for the women you‘ve cleaved yourselves to and take a hike now and then, yeah?
Good. Ready? Set? GO.