■ David Porter / Contributed
I read an article online about the “12 things a husband should never do in front of his wife.” Since I am a husband who has a wife, I thought it was something I should read.
Mostly, I read it because it gave me something to do other than what I was supposed to be doing, which was working. But because it was on the computer, it looked like I was working. Since I’m my own boss, I don’t really have to hide the fact that I’m not really working except from my wife, and I was curious if this was one of the 12 things I’m not supposed to do.
Turns out, the list isn’t some peer-reviewed, survey-based, scientific compilation. Like so many of these online articles, it was one woman’s opinion. And boy am I glad I’m not married to her.
Some of the items were no-brainers. Like “don’t make googly eyes over your wife’s friends.” And “don’t make fun of your wife’s appearance.” These are things that all husbands know already, and if they don’t, they soon will.
Some of the things, though, were just part of cohabitation. Like passing gas. Sure, I get that passing gas is considered to be rude behavior and something you try to avoid in high society and on elevators. But if you can’t blow wind in front of your wife, at some point, you will explode.
I realize this is an off-color topic. But if the lady telling me I shouldn’t do it can write about it, I reckon it’s OK for me to write about it. The thing is, as one gets older like me, the personal pressure valve becomes a little harder to control. And if you are in a good, loving relationship, your wife will forgive you if you have to let the air out of the tires once in awhile.
If you have to run to the bathroom every time you need to blow dry your shorts, you’re going to wear a path in the hallway carpet. I’m not saying it’s OK to stink up the house every day, but sharing such a personal, private bodily function can be demonstrative of the loving bond that two people have.
You get all snuggled up in bed and you feel that rumbly in your tumbly, you’re not going to jump out of bed and run down the hall. No, you let it rip. If it’s a really good one, you fluff the covers a bit just to make sure you get full credit for it. What’s the use of opening a world-class can of air biscuits if nobody knows it? Where’s the fun in that?
I do have my limits, though. If the thunder from down under turns into a sit-down job, I don’t need help with that. The author suggested that it’s OK for the wife to be in the room with her husband while the bomb is deployed, but she doesn’t want to see the clean up on aisle 2. “Take it somewhere else,” she says.
Where are you going to take it? Are you just going to get up and go to the kitchen? I suppose if you have only one bathroom, these things can’t always be avoided, but at that point, the cake baker is tied to the oven and the one not sitting down needs to step outside.
Now, I’m not the most modest guy at home. It’s just me and the wife these days, so we don’t have secrets. But the door on the bathroom is there for a reason, and if it’s closed, it means, “don’t come in.”
My rule of thumb is that I don’t do anything in front of my wife that I don’t want to see her doing in front of me. Passing gas is an anomaly because I don’t know for certain whether women can even do that. My wife has never done it as far as I know, and if I did know, I wouldn’t admit it. I’m not an idiot. But for guys, it’s as natural as breathing and about as frequent.
I don’t know why men seem to break wind more than women, but I know it’s not just me. If you see a guy walking through a hardware store and he’s not stopping to look at the tools, it’s a pretty safe bet that he’s fumigating the aisles. That’s why I make it a rule to never share a hot tub with other guys; you can never be sure whether the jets are turned on or not.
I kinda feel bad now that I know I’m not supposed to do that in front of my wife. I’m not going to stop doing it; I’m just going to feel bad more often.
© Copyright 2017 by David Porter who can be reached at email@example.com. The next article was the “12 things you shouldn’t talk about in polite society,” but I’m pretty sure I’ve already failed that test.