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Keeping Up With the Joneses There is no question that men and women do not think alike. The medical profession has documented that men are right-brained and women left-brained. Women think in terms of love, marriage and children. Men think about sex, booze and sports. Women will do just about anything to achieve marital objectives, while men will do just about anything, including many blind and juvenile actions, to amplify their sex life, and sometimes the two objectives clash dramatically. Men outwardly display their dismay if not utter disgust at many of women’s deceitful practices while women are horrified at men’s lack of focus on family bliss. Let’s look at an example of an up and coming executive. Bill is happy with his relatively simple life, but his girlfriend uses every trick in the book to alter his mindset and lifestyle to achieve the ultimate female status so she can “keep up with the Joneses.” When Bill was single, he lived in a small apartment in a decent neighborhood for which he paid $1,000 per month, not much of a burden on his fast rising $85,000 salary, still a comfortable income considering that he probably spent another $1,000 a month on booze, an occasional recreational drug and a few sex toys. Life was good. He always had plenty of money for stylish clothes, entertainment, a sexy new sports car, and quite a few dollars in the bank. Bill was the epitome of the Party Animal, reveling in the many women he had seduced and the fun-filled nights out on the town with his boys, The “F” Troop. But then along came the Princess. She didn’t fall for the “Silver Tongued Devil’s” pathetic lines and smooth talking quite as easily as his other victims. It took him three dates before he could get into her pants, but wow was it worth it. She was different, or at least he thought so. He was totally enraptured. Bill and Laura quickly became a twosome shining as a bright light as the ultimate couple - the envy of the party scene. After two years, he was very comfortable with this vixen, moving in together in Bill’s apartment after the first year. He hoped it would go on forever, but as his comfort level increased, he started to hear that ugly word that is non-existent in men’s vocabulary more frequently ooze from her lips, “Comm…,” “Commit…,” “Commitment,” (boy, that was tough to write) or that even uglier word that starts with “M.” But what was wrong with leaving things the way they were now? She countered with seemingly valid arguments about being a family and “their future” together. She even strongly hinted that since she was now in her late 20s and her window of opportunity for bearing children (her “biological clock”) was shutting down (at the age of 28?), she may have to find someone else if he didn’t grow up and get “serious.” This seemingly rational argument made Bill take a long, hard look at himself. Here he was over 30 years old. Was this ultimatum a death sentence or the opportunity of a lifetime? Could he maintain the status quo and live the rest of his life as a Party Animal – or perhaps she was right after all -- but did he really truly love this woman? Indecision gnawed at his brain. As with most men, the word “love” rarely crosses their lips unless they’re thinking about their immediate family or even their pet dog, or when they occasionally need to utter it to get laid. He really has enjoyed her sexual antics and idle chatter but did he want to ensconce himself with one woman for the rest of his life, become the caretaker for a bunch of spoiled rug rats, and actually take on responsibility? Giving him little opportunity to digest the situation, she followed up the “serious” line with “If you truly loved me, there would be no question in your mind.” He had many reservations about joining the traditional married groupies with their home in the suburbs, white picket fence, mandatory SUV and 2.2 children. The mere thought chilled him to the bone. Even when she quietly mentioned the “small sacrifices” he would need to make, it didn’t dawn on him that his pride and joy, his expensive little sports car, would immediately become a wartime casualty if he agreed to her terms. And what about those weekend golf outings in far-off exotic places? Would they too fall to the axe? As the coup de grace, he didn’t have a clue that his lecherous single friends would likely become persona non grata as they are a threat to happily married couples.
Bill Pops the Question So after at least 10 minutes of typically male murky deliberation, he bit the bullet. Bill bowed to the pressure and got on bended knee and asked for her hand in marriage which she quickly accepted before he could complete his stumbling overture. Bill smiled as he had successfully made a monumental decision. He gave his new fiancé a long intertwining tongue kiss and opened the fridge to grab a tall, cool one. Now that that issue was resolved, he returned to watching the football game. Now he would be just as happy if they quietly slipped off into the night and found a justice of the peace to perform the ceremony, or maybe she would opt for a quick trip to Las Vegas and a marriage in one of those cute but garish little wedding chapels.
Laura Plans the Wedding Ceremony As fast as a speeding bullet, Laura waited all of 8 seconds before she set her long-conceived plans that were etched into her brain since she was 4 into motion. She called her Mother, her Grandmother, her sisters and the dogcatcher to announce the news. Yes, Bill had popped the question after being grilled for two years without realizing the psychological warfare that had been waged upon him. Abu Graib was child’s play in comparison. Since this would be the biggest day in Laura’s life, she deserved a celebration fit for a queen. Mom and Grandma would help her plan the magical union, but she didn’t want to overindulge. 300 guests would be more than enough including Aunt Hortense from the back woods of Minnesota whom she hadn’t seen in 27 years. She would have a trousseau of 10 bridesmaids, two obnoxious little children to act as ring bearers, and a wedding reception at the Fountainbleu Le Rich restaurant. But first things first. She would require a matching set of engagement and wedding rings demonstrating her elevated station in society. At the crack of dawn, they ran down to McMoney’s Jewelers at breakneck speed to pick out the set. Laura found a dazzling set that was on sale for $9,999. Bill choked on the can of beer he was guzzling and conjured up a momentary whimsical thought that perhaps Zirconia would be a lot cheaper, and who would know? She cajoled; she sweet-talked him; she promised him some new sexual positions that night if he would only acquiesce. Bill did love her body and all he could think about was how she planned to do magic tricks on his body with that new Marquis DeSade body oil. Bill was a dead duck. They would marry in 3 months in the traditional month of June. A few weeks before the wedding, she laid out a foot high stack of spreadsheets that detailed the expenses down to the toothpicks that would make a Big 8 CPA firm proud. Laura told Bill that the wedding would only cost $28,000. All the reservations had been made, and if there were any cancellations, the penalties were severe. “Just keep writing checks, my darling, and I will make the wedding night a night you will never forget.” Bill was now drinking a lot more. Laura now dropped her bombshell. She didn’t think it was fitting that she should work as a lingerie model any longer, for after all, she would soon be a wife of an important executive. She reminded Bill that he was doing quite well in his job at Enron and should expect significant raises in the near future. She told Bill she needed to concentrate on getting pregnant and setting up house, for after all, it’s an unmitigated fact of life that two can live as cheaply as one.
We’ll Need a Place To Live But they couldn’t live in Bill’s “shabby” apartment in that slum area anymore where Bill had been quite content. That wouldn’t be fitting for the soon to be upscale married couple. Laura planned to beat the hell out of the “Joneses.” They couldn’t rent any longer. Only blue collar and the lower social classes stoop to that level. She contacted 19 real estate brokers within the state. They needed to be concerned about the schools for their forthcoming brood. The realtors were told they should start looking for a small cottage in the suburbs of SnobVille. Laura said 4 to 5 bedrooms, three baths, a built-in Jacuzzi, a very large kitchen and a 4-car garage would fit like a shoe for their planned family of 3 children. A small “starter” McMansion would do just fine. Even though Bill didn’t show much interest in the wedding plans, Laura realized that Bill obviously must approve their new humble abode. After intensive searching, Laura found her dream house and plied Bill with 2 hours of wild sex the night before their planned visit to their prospective homestead, draining him of any resistance. He was a shell of a man reduced down to a bowl of quivering Jell-O. When Bill first saw the home in his exhausted state, he thought they had mistakenly arrived at the tomb of an Egyptian pharaoh. Sure the home was gorgeous, but then he started to ask some very pointed male-type questions. “How much is this mausoleum? How many rooms does it have? How many acres of land come with the place? And most importantly, what’s the monthly mortgage payment?” Bill even became somewhat agitated and said, “How many families plan to live in this replica of the Taj Mahal?” But Laura had done her homework. She reminded Bill that mortgage rates were at their lowest point in history and even with the price of the house at $999,999 with those low interest rates, the mortgage would only be $4,300 a month provided of course that they (meaning Bill) sealed the deal with a $100,000 down payment. She added it would be a great investment, never acknowledging that there could be a downturn in the housing market at a later date. Strike 1: Bill can kiss off any extravagant expenses like his membership in the country club. In typically stubborn male fashion, Bill replied that he couldn’t afford that hefty a payment on his $85,000 salary. But Laura had a great game plan. “Well, the property has three acres. I don’t think it’s unreasonable to plant corn or raise cattle with all that space. Just think about the free milk for the kids.” “Wait a minute,” said Bill. “First of all, is this area zoned as a game preserve or for planting food crops? Do I really want the stench of Clarabelle and her friends wafting through the house? Secondly, who will do all of the work because it’s a hell of a lot of effort?” Laura countered with, “Well honey, you’ll have your weekends free, plus if you work 10 to 20 hours per week more at Enron we’ll have plenty of money for the mortgage.” Strike 2: Bill can kiss off his beer and occasional recreational drugs. Bill said, ”So I suppose you have a broken arm? Why can’t you do most of the work?” “My dear,” she replied, “You wouldn’t want me to lose my figure, now would you? Besides you wouldn’t want a pregnant woman doing heavy work.” Bill stammered, “Are you pregnant?” “Well no, but I’ve stopped taking the pill and I’m sure it will be any day now.” Bill contemplated using male logic by explaining to her how they should start out small and work their way up to a larger home as their fortunes improved, but he changed the subject recognizing that his logical approach was a waste of time. He said, “How many rooms does this shopping mall have, anyway?” She triumphantly announced that “it has 5 bedrooms, 3 bathrooms, a gym room, a den, a sewing room, a Jacuzzi, wine cellar, a badminton court in the attic, and a 2,000 square foot basement that you can finish off in your spare time.” Bill hollered out, “Why in God’s name will we need 5 bedrooms?” “Well, we need to plan for the future with 3 kids plus my Mother will need a place to stay. You know her health is failing. And we’ll need to find room for her 8 dogs, too.” Bill angrily spit out, “You’re not even pregnant yet, and the third kid is at least 5 to 10 years down the road. Why don’t we cross that bridge when we come to it?” But Laura had an answer for that objection, too. “But my dear, you wouldn’t want to deal with the hassle of packing up and moving again in 5 years, and especially changing the kids school, now would you?” Bill retorted, “And where are we going to get enough furniture to fill all those rooms?” “I’ve taken care of that,” she said. “The Ostentatious Furniture Store is having a sale, and we can pick up five rooms of furniture for a pittance.” “Wait a minute, what’s the amount of this pittance?” She cheerfully replied, “They’ll sell us all the furniture we need on a 20-year plan for $999 a month, and the furniture comes with a 10-year guarantee. We’ll just put the bill on your American Express credit card. We won’t need to worry about paying that bill for a long time.” Strike 3: Bill can kiss off his beloved golf outings and football games. Bill was now mentally sliding into the Black Hole of Calcutta. “Do you think the current owners may have left any beer in the refrigerator?” Bill would sign his own death warrant in his catatonic state.
And They Lived Happily Ever After So Bill and Laura bought the house on Snootingham Lane. And within 5 years, they had 3 kids. Bill worked as much overtime at Enron as humanly possible to survive in this hellish situation. But local ordinances forbidding the raising of animals or farming of any kind were passed six months after Bill and Laura brought the property. All land must be maintained in a pristine condition. Now Bill was really desperate. He picked out a quiet corner of his large lot and planted a quarter acre of marijuana under a carefully improvised arrangement of tents to avoid detection. Laura complained about the parade of sleazy characters who arrived at all hours of the day and night to pick up the latest harvest, but Bill responded dramatically by screaming, “If you don’t like it, we’ll sell this palatial mansion and move back to Pauper’s Row.” Then Enron collapsed, and with it went his job, his pension plan and medical coverage. Bill had a very difficult time finding another job because he was a Vice President of Accounting. Laura and Bill hadn’t had any sex for over a year, due to Bill’s constantly exhausted condition from working 100 hours a week. And Laura had gained 50 pounds after three children -- modeling lingerie was kaput, especially because of the large belly she had acquired due to a lack of any physical or sexual activity. Laura then filed divorce papers on Bill claming that he failed to support her and the kids in the style to which they had become accustomed. Bill was ordered to continue paying the mortgage on their White Elephant on Snootingham Lane, and also to pay child support to the tune of $1,500 a month. By then Bill had found another lower paying job and moved back to his old apartment in the slums he shared with three drug addicts to pay the bills. Three months later, the Drug Enforcement Agency (DEA) arrested Bill on criminal charges for engaging in illegal drug cultivation and trafficking. Bill served 3 years in an institution that catered primarily to sexual predators. Apparently, there was a mix up in the court system. Bill became Bubba’s favorite plaything. When he got out of the slammer, Bill emigrated to Outer Mongolia to get as far away from American women as humanly possible and now weaves baskets to eke out a meager existence, since he was disbarred by the accounting board from practicing his trade for being a convicted felon. Oh, and yes, Laura eventually lost slightly more than the 50 pounds she had packed on regaining her prior succulent form, and married a Hollywood movie director. In a tear-jerking scene worthy of an Oscar, Laura convinced her new hubby that her often-volatile ex-husband was a lazy bastard who wouldn’t support his wife and kids. Mr. And Mrs. Hollywood were married after a very short engagement, days after IRS Gestapo agents seized the house on Snootingham Lane for non-payment of taxes. The newlyweds now live in Beverly Hills, where Laura works part-time as a tanning instructor. Bill’s three kids attend Beverly Hills High School (90210) and have forgotten his name. So much for happy endings.