My wife needs a man.
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And not just any man. Oh, no.
She needs a man who is very handsome, very accomplished, highly educated, very articulate, reasonably wealthy, and who is a good listener. Here's the kicker: you must have so little self-esteem that being completely submissive comes to you as naturally as the way a light turns off when somebody hits the switch. And then comes on again when a certain someone changes their mind just a moment later.
Do you like hours and hours of antiquing on beautiful summer days and offering meaningless approval of others' purchases? Hey, good.
Do you like being asked about home decorating selections by someone who has no intention of actually taking your opinions? Very good. You're on a roll.
Do you mind abandoning your friendships and foregoing the chance to make new ones? Hey, excellent!
Would it bother you if long-held plans that you were kinda looking forward to are routinely abandoned without notice? No, of course you wouldn't. Hey - you're really rocking now.
Those pots and pans you were told to remove from the dishwasher - like, you weren't actually planning on putting them somewhere without first consulting someone, were you? Oh, good.
Do you have the ability to nod and utter "um-hmm" at socially appropriate moments for long periods of time without actually asking or saying anything? (You can't try and avoid this by listening to your iPod on long car trips. I've tried this. It does not work. I have two busted pairs of earphones to show for it.)
If all that is true, then certainly you won't mind it if the Redskins game you were looking forward to ALL FREAKING WEEK is switched off in favor of an epidode of HGTV's "My Home is Worth What?" that you're pretty sure you sat through two weeks ago.
If you have all of these qualities and promise to be a decent role model to my children, I'll bankroll you in a comfortable lifestyle at a level to be determined by my wife's yet-to-be-hired lawyer. You'll enjoy a four bedroom suburban colonial with a pretty damn nice kitchen. You'll have your own space in a two-car garage for your car. You'll have a small, yappy little dog with bad breath that is yours to walk on a rhinestone-studded, hot-pink leash - first thing every morning and last thing every evening. And you'll have a one-acre lawn to keep manicured. (Neglect it at your peril, friend.)
After the holidays are gone, so am I. You can reach me by satellite phone. I'll be on the deck of a leaky old bass boat off the coast of Florida drinking a Corona and listening to some Jimmy Buffett and thinking about something other than the balance of my 401(k).
Oh - I almost forgot: there will be no sex. Like, none.
If you're interested, hit me up with an e-mail and we'll get you all fixed up.
- Location: Rockville
- it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests