Compromise: Paying someone to blow your husband

Marriage is like having a second fucking job. Who the hell knew it was as much work as all of your miserably married friends warned you about as you prepared to walk down the aisle. I didn’t believe a word they said. I laughed in their faces and mocked them behind their backs. Marriage? Work? Not for us. We’re too good for that.

Wrong, wrong, why am I always so fucking wrong.

I can just (uncharacteristically) losemyshit now over pretty much anything these days. Like this morning before 830, I stomped my foot because I dropped a package my Mr. H handed to me, primarily because it is always more fun to blame. As I picked it up from the snow I hissed, You could be a little more CAREFUL when handing me things. He asked me what my problem was, not even wanting an answer and then walked off, obviously not in the mood to entertain a tantrum in the snow, in 8 degree weather on a Friday. FINE.

I’m not sure if it has to do with the fact that my hormones are OFFTHECHARTS lately or if it’s my pent-up aggression from that nasty bitch troll landlord that owes us 6000 euro which is like 9 trillion USD or if it’s that we’ve been hit by 30 inches of snow in two days and I HATE IT or if it’s because I’ve been losing iron straight out of my legs now for um 36fuckingdays straight. Either way, I’m just out of control lately and there’s no reason not to just let you all know what a delight I’m being…send your condolences to my husband. He needs all the support he can get.

Now. In admitting all this, I will also say that I have found it amusing how some of our conversations have changed since we’ve been married. Now keep in mind, we’ve probably never had typical husband/wife chats to begin with, but I certainly think we have some good ones. Here is a conversation we had this week over dinner.

“So I’m going to call S&K’s masseuse. The one that comes to their house. Should I book you a rub too?” I’m really dying for a massage lately.

“A rub and tug?” He seems more interested with his version.

No. (sigh and not because he wants a jerk but because I WANT TO BOOK THIS NOW and he’s stalling me) Do you want a 60 minute back rub or shall I take your time too?” I love to be rubbed down by strangers and he knows it.

“You know I don’t want one.” He is so bizarre. He does not want a stranger, female or not, anywhere near his naked backside, rubbing him down with oils and such. I don’t get it. He claims it’s uncomfortable and just weird. And yes, I’ve already asked if he’s just afraid of getting a chub while getting said stranger given rub down and he gave me a look. No, he had said. I’m not. Firmly. I bet he was. Anyway, back to the conversation.

“I bet you’d let her give you a blow job, though. You wouldn’t think paying a stranger to come into our house to do that would be odd, would you?”

“No, I wouldn’t. Does she give blow jobs?” He is merely baiting me.

“I’m not sure, I’ll check. Then you can have your blow job and then take a nap while she rubs me down. And in that case I’m getting more than 60 minutes for a massage.”

“Fine. You get out of a blow job and you get a massage. Win-win.” He was right. That was a win-win for me.

We high-fived and finished our dinner, chatting about something else.

So. Today’s lesson is this: I guess if you’re good at compromise, maybe marriage isn’t such hard work. Even if compromise means paying someone to blow your husband so you can get a massage.