Here I sit, broken hearted, trying to Ö oh Ö hello! How nice of you to stop by! I was just thinking that it was time to let you know a bit more about how my weird brain works. Today, I want to talk about relationships. Yes, itís a biggie, but really, who doesnít like to hear yet another opinion on this much debated topic? I am pretty sure that youíll get many more posts on this subject from me. I have a LOT of opinions in the matter.

    Women, love your men!

    Yes, I said it out loud (well, rather, I typed it). I will not hit the backspace button, I will not highlight and delete. I have always wondered about relationships, what they require, what makes them chug happily along, and how to keep them alive. My parents got divorced. (Well, perhaps theyíre not the best example, considering what an abusive man my father was.) But then, each of them found someone else and, until my mother passed away, she was very happy with her husband, who was twelve years younger than her, and loved her dearly, in sickness and sickness (she was not healthy for the many years they were together). My father has a wonderful wife at the moment, and she is sweet, loving, funny, a complete darling with three rambunctious boys. I wonder what she sees in him, as he is a crotchety, fiery-tempered and macho-type man. But, they are together, even if they have their ups and downs.

    My hang-ups, and the reason I ask, nay, BEG, women to love their men, is simple really. Happy boys make happy girls. Of course, I would expect the same from the boys too Ė being that I am all for equal opportunity and such. But, to make happy boys, one thing I would recommend is let them be free. (What? I can hear your gasps of horror.)

    Donít be alarmed/offended/mad/insulted/horrified. Here is what I saw happen a Friday night, a while ago. I was hanging out at this lovely bar, having a TGIF beer and chilling like a villain with the boys. I was with my beau, yes; he called me over to meet him for a drink with the boys. While we sat and imbibed, I noticed a bunch of men come into the bar. They were having fun, laughing, shooting the breeze and having beers. They were in work clothes, so it was apparent that they had just come in from work, on their way home. They must not have been in the bar more than fifteen minutes when one of the guysí wivesís popped her head in the door and called him. He looked up and the expression on her face was not one to be messed around with. He got up from his table, and walked over to her. She walked over to her cart and got in the driverís seat. He stood on the sidewalk, looking like a chastised Catholic schoolboy, and I could see her ranting and raving at him. He looked back (rather sadly I thought), and got on the cart with her and she drove off. Five minutes later, said guyís best friendís wife (say that five times fast) popped her head in the door as well, and the same routine followed, with the next guy heading out and following her home.

    My beau and his friends had all witnessed this exchange, and I could see from the look on their faces that they probably wouldnít have liked the same to happen to them. I was feeling more than a little sorry for the guys who had to leave. Granted, I didnít know the situation entirely, or know if perhaps they had blown off plans with their wives to meet with the guys. But what I do know is that this is a common occurrence, and there are all number of men whose wives head over to the bar to locate them and bring them home, whether they want to or not.

    These women are only a few of the many I knew of who donít like that their men are having fun. I used to love watching Sex and the City. I thought it was great fun, until the underlying theme started to grate on my nerves. Carrie, Miranda and the gang wanted too bloody much. Women all want too bloody much. These wives at the bar doors have children with these men, have been with them for years, and I see them out and about dining out, attending parties and socializing often. What is so wrong then, with their men wanting to spend a bit of time with the guys? Why feel the urge to go and take him out from the bar and away from friends?

    I would hate to have to sheepishly tell my girlfriends that I had to be home at a certain time because the hubby only let me stay out to a certain hour. Thatís like having a parole officer at home marking down your crimes. I think dragging your man away from a bar is not only embarrassing to the man, but to the woman as well. Imagine the reputation that follows after repeated incidents. Far be it from people to talk about WHY the man is in the bar. The main topic would be of the woman who goes looking for him. Besides, spending time apart from each other is a great tool to making things work out. How would a woman feel if her husband came looking for her, say, one minute after five at the office. Where is the trust? If you feel the need to go look for your man at the bar every time, perhaps there are bigger issues that need to be worked out? Maybe itís time that you and your spouse had a big long talk about what both your priorities are, and what can be done to make things work out.

    I just donít think that removing them from the offending watering hole is such a great idea. How about meeting your man after work once in a while? Drinking does not have to be involved, but if your man wants to have a cold one, and he invites you, by all means go. Even if just once. Make his buddies get to know you, be sociable, and you might end up having fun. I say this because I have learned. Obviously, my approach was a bit more subtle Ė I would call the cell phone. (Luckily, I have someone who answers his phone while out with friends.) I would check up and see how much longer he would be Ė and how unfair is that, putting a time frame on fun and friendships. After a couple of calls, and sulky silences at home, it hit me. I could get a life of my own, stop sitting around waiting and watching the clock. I could go out and do something, meet my own friends, make new ones. Heck, I could even join him with his boys for a bit, show that I am not an ogre, then leave and have fun on my own too. Because when itís my turn, the last thing I want is for the hubby to peek his head round some store, bar or friendís home to take me home. That would suck.

Click for the Current Column...

Commons Island Community History Visitor Center Goods & Services
Search Messages CIG Info

Copyright by Casado Internet Group, Belize