If you can’t get rid of the skeleton in your closet, you’d best teach it to dance.

puppet(quote by George Bernard Shaw)

The same applies to your spouse. You don’t really want to get rid of him, do you? He’s a decent fellow. Sure, he has some flaws. Who doesn’t? Luckily, you’ve learned how he operates. Being a man, as well as former spouse, I must admit to dancing on the end of strings occasionally. Although my strings are long gone, I watch lovely puppeteers make their men move. Last night one worded it masterfully, as she devised a plan to join the next girls’ night out.

“I’ll fuck my way there.”


“Plus, I’m a bit horny anyway.”

“And, I’m a bit intrigued.”

“Oh, come on. We do the same with pets and children, don’t we? Dangle the reward to get what we want.”

“Woof. Or, do you prefer paw language? One stomp means yes; two means my foot itches.”

“I’ll just do another shot of tequila, then go home and fuck his brains out. Then, while he fades into post-coital bliss, I’ll seek permission to hang out with the ladies tomorrow night.”

“Sounds like you may have used this strategy more than once.”

“Numerous times. You’d be surprised what a blowjob gets me.”

“Would I?”

“He’s putty in my hands, he’s well aware of it, and he has no complaints.”

“Have you considered the possibility that he may be perfectly fine with you going out, even without his glazed wiener?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you could go home tonight and simply express your desire to join the ladies tomorrow. He probably doesn’t mind, but he might furrow his brow, knowing resistance will lower your panties.”

“That’s manipulative.”

“Hello, Miss Pot. Meet Mr. Kettle.”

“It’s easier to just screw him into submission. That way I get something out of it too.”

“Ah, marital bliss. I miss it. Here I sit–the stiff wooden fellow in the corner of her toy closet. Nobody wants to make me dance.”

“Aw. Don’t pout. I’m sure some puppet master will come along and yank you.”


Sexual currency is quite precious, but frequently devalued when presented to the woman. Sad.

“Honey, how about I give you a good beefin’, then you let me join my bros for UFC fight night this weekend?”

“How about you fix the garage door, paint Josh’s room, hire a new gardener, and then I’ll consider it?”

“I’ll throw in a ten-minute foot rub.”

“You’re picking up dinner from PF Chang’s, and folding the laundry. Oh, and don’t forget to pick Josh up from soccer at six.”

“Have I told you lately how much I love you?”

“Yes, Mr. Stewart, you have.”

“I think we should go shopping tonight. How about a few laps around the outlets? I hear BCBG is having a sale.”

“Now we’re talking. Tell you what–we can turn this into an exercise of efficiency. You pick up dinner and Josh while I go shopping. We’ll eat, I’ll model my new blouse, and allow you to make love to me. If you ring my bell, you’ll be free to go.”

“Deal. Wait. How much does that new blouse cost?”

“Three blowjobs, plus tax.”


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