If you are a survivor of the Nuptial Wars, you understand how difficult it can be to deal with a wife and life with a wife in general. It has been said by people smarter than me that women suffer a major change in the chemistry of the brain after the man says “I do” in which her thinking and processing becomes more sharp and less forgiving.  For example, that Harley you are so fond about and that she enjoyed riding while hugging you tight is no longer an acceptable means of transportation and carefully bookmarked magazines showing pictures of minivans or “squees” of delights when a commercial for a Subaru crossover plays on TV are suddenly the norm around the house.

The other great change is inside decoration. The deer head with the reclaimed road sign blinker and the liquor neon sign stolen during a collegiate vacation in Panama Beach, Florida are no longer acceptable items of decor. Same goes for any concert posters unless they are what she deems classics and are encased in a very expensive framing with a cute little light illuminating them. Much to your amazement, you will come to hate Home Depot with emphasis in the paint department. Unbeknownst to you, Peach is not only a color, but there are some 46 variations of it according to the charts only be topped by Off-White and its  83 shades.  After the third hour, you are ready to place your tie your head to the paint shaker and click that sucker to ‘Hi.’ But don’t worry, you won’t lose your love for the home improvement  locale, you just learn to lie, tell your wife you are going to play poker with the guys, but instead go to the store  and then just wander alone around the power tools aisle with other married men admiring the latest offerings from Makita and Porter Cable. (Word of experienced advice: Don’t buy new shit unless you can hide it from her really good. They get miffed if they find out you were there without their permission.)

Outside Decor is even a bigger surprise: Did you know that the word “bed” is not only applied to that horizontal piece of furniture where sex, TV watching and sleep is achieved? Apparently there is such thing as “flower bed” but may God forgive your immortal soul if you happen to lie a top of it after your missus is done planting it. I also find out that giggling like a 12-year-old in front of your neighbors  when your wife says “trim the bush” is not only counterproductive to marital bliss in the bedroom but gains you a long look of disgust from her reserved only for shoe salesmen that dare not to have her favorite new favorite pair in her size.

And the lawn thing? I discovered that the multi-billion dollar Lawn Care business is not driven by the manly desire of compete with your neighbor Frank, no siree! It is plain survivor of the fittest and avoidance of constant nagging. “How come the neighbor’s lawn looks better than ours? Do something!! Fix it! No, we don’t need professionals, Mr. “I-can-do-it-myself.” So you go out and start spending your gun and beer money on Weed & Feed chemicals and ultra performance lawnmowers while mortgaging your soul in a high-tech sprinkler system that will not only water with an efficiency recommended by the Sierra Club but also detect most lawn pests and shoot lasers at them.

Oh shit, I think I hear he coming… to be continued.

PS: The spell checker wanted to change “Marital” for “martial”… that also gives you pause, doesn’t it?