Marriage and the Elimination of Manhood

There was a time not so long ago when I was a man. I could shoot pool all night. All my shirts were plaid. I knew all the top running backs in the NFL. I could pass gas with impunity. Poker night was every Tuesday. I was a manly man. Then I got married. Little did I know that my wedding day would be my last day as a man. From this point on I was something else -- not quite a man, definitely not a woman, but something in between -- a husband.

The Decline and Fall of Manhood

The Question.
It started simply enough, as most things do, with a single question. While planning the wedding, we wanted to do things together. So naturally my wife-to-be would ask, "So honey, what do you think of this?" It's such a simple question, but it was indeed, the beginning of the end. Suddenly my wife had me thinking about fondant versus butter cream icing, types of lace, flowers, color-coordination and a whole host of things that had never been in my brain before. And just as suddenly, my comprehensive knowledge of Heisman Trophy winners no longer seemed very useful. As it turns out, though I didn't know it at the time, most of what I knew would prove to be equally useless.

Out with the Plaid, in With the Good
One evening my wife and I had a dinner engagement. While I'm getting dressed, my wife casually asks - you aren't going to wear that, are you? Um... well yeah, that's why I'm putting it on. Besides these are my nicest pair of boots. "Oh." was all she said. It was all she had to say. It was enough to make me doubt twenty-some years of dressing myself. Of course I still dress myself, but the options I have to choose from have changed. A shirt here and there for Christmas. A pair of slacks for my birthday. A nice polo on our anniversary. Suddenly I have an entire wardrobe of clothes that have been picked out for me. Not a single one is flannel. Don't get me wrong. I'm not complaining, but if clothes make the man, then my wife has made me.

Craft Stores
I'm trying to remember which Circle of Hell in Dante's Inferno contained craft stores. But I'm willing to bet they're pretty far down. If you're a man caught in a craft store, take a look around. If you see another man in there study him. That broken-down, pathetic figure you're staring at is you. It's not impossible to be manly standing in the scrapbooking aisle, but it's not exactly easy either. To put it logically -- my wife loves craft stores. I love my wife, therefore I love craft stores too.

Cleaning House
One day I came home, and every pair of comfortable underwear I owned was gone. Now, sure, some pairs were a little past their prime but that's why they were comfortable. My wife said they were full of holes, but I preferred to think of them as being airy. Of course I couldn't argue about it - she'd replaced them all with brand new pairs, all a size smaller than the old ones, which of course led me to wonder if I needed to lose a few pounds.

Strawberries
When I was single my menu was simple - if you couldn't buy it at a baseball game, I didn't eat it. Now if you open our fridge, you'll find things like sour cream, Catalina salad dressing, cottage cheese, Romaine lettuce, yogurt and strawberries. I can deal with most of these; after all, I am a man. But strawberries? Before getting married I'd never bought strawberries - not once. I never even really thought about them. Closest I ever got was a strawberry shake, and the only reason I got that was they made a mistake in drive-thru. Now I've been made to understand that my previous diet was unhealthy, and I accept that, but there's just no way to be manly while eating strawberries. Even in Pretty Woman when Richard Gere orders strawberries for Julia Roberts did you notice that he didn't eat one? Of course we won't mention the fact that I just referenced a Julia Roberts movie. Leave me some dignity, please.

Married Men Live Longer
Studies show that married men live longer than single men - I know why. It's because women force men to live longer.

Before I got married, the last time I'd been to the doctor was when I'd fallen through some metal grating. The time before that was when I snapped my ankle playing football. For men, severe injuries equal doctor's visit. Being sick equals no doctors visit. It's simple. Now if I get sick, my wife insists I should see a doctor. Why? To have him charge me three hundred bucks to tell me I have a cold?

Here's the problem, and it's the problem every married guy has. My wife is right. Your wife is right. She's right about the holey underwear. She's right about the diet. She's right about the clothes, the doctor, and just about everything else. And I love her for it. Am I less of a man than I was? Yes. But I'm more of a person. And that makes me a better man.