Archive » January 18, 2006
By Ernie Witham
A Married Guy’s Plea
Dear World of Science and Technology:
I know you are wondering what the average married guy (like me) will be needing in the near future. Maybe it would be easier to start with things we married guys don’t need.
For instance, I believe we already have enough upload speed, download speed, vram, dram, mega pixels, gigabytes and quantum leaps to last a lifetime – or at least until next month.
Also, I know you are probably already working with the designers at WomenWhoWantToGetThereSafeSoundAndOnTime.org, but we married guys do not need a GPS system implant. We like moving around aimlessly. Plus, when we are “a bit confused,” we don’t even consult maps. Do you really think we are going to listen to some female voice in our heads telling us where we are versus where we should be?
Oops. Excuse me.
“Yes dear? But I just brought you orange juice. OK, apple this time. No, I won’t forget. No, I won’t get sidetracked. No, I won’t let you dehydrate into a fossil that won’t be found for a thousand years.”
Where was I? Oh yeah, married guys also do not need micro computer chip-enhanced reflective sunglasses with built-in Wi-Fi capability. I know personally when I’m out and about on a warm day in Santa Barbara I’d rather oogle than Google.
Oops. Excuse me again.
“Yes dear? But the heat is already on ninety. Yes, I know what chills are. No I don’t want you to shiver so hard you break apart into a million pieces. Although, if you feel that coming on, it could make an interesting video clip for YouTube. Kidding dear. Just kidding.”
OK, so, another thing we married guys do not need are cell phones with any more features, like being capable of calling other planets or anything. I know you are probably developing one just in case they open Mars to timeshare development. As it is, we can already make and receive calls anywhere on Earth, but the only person who ever seems to call us is…
“Yes dear. Another case of tissues from Costco. The soft ones in a pleasing pastel. Got it. No I won’t buy the scratchy house brand or the ugly boxes with garish hibiscus flowers on them. Soon. Very soon. I’m talking with the Science and Technology folks right now, but I’m almost done.”
You really want to help out the average married guy like me? For crying out loud create something that insures us that our wives will never, ever get the flu again. Most of us got married so we’d have someone to take care of us – once our mothers finally threw us out at the tender age of 31 or so – not vice-versa. We are hurting here during flu season. Jeez.
I mean it wasn’t so bad that first day when my wife said: “I’m not feeling too good. I think I’ll go lie down.”
“OK, dear,” I said, quickly changing the channel from a PBS special on Thread Dyeing in Indonesia to ESPN IV and the International Steroid Corporation Sponsored Gargantuan Bowl. “Just holler if you need me. Or, better yet, call me on my cell phone.”
Talk about words you wish you could take back. Do you realize that I have used up all my rollover minutes discussing mucus and expectorants? I probably couldn’t call Mars even if I wanted to. Plus I have purchased enough DayQuil, NyQuil, DuskQuil, Pre-DawnQuil and other over-the-counter snake oil products to earn me a seat on the board of directors.
“Pounding on the wall will not get you your juice any faster. This is important work I’m doing out here. For guys all over the world. Yes, I do love you. No, I wouldn’t feel better if you just went belly-up like an old trout. No, I don’t have another wife lined up just in case. Believe me.”
Look. If you Sci-Tech people can’t cure the flu, can you at least shorten it? I’ve been living on beer and taco chips for five – yes five – freakin’ days now. I’m starting to crave vegetable medley night for crying out loud.
“Coming dear. Yes, it’s still the same day you first called.”
Do something! Please!
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