If your man is excited about your upcoming wedding, he's GAY!
***The following, as usual, are my own feelings and observations; please don't throw things at me after reading this blog***
I live next to the jewelry district, which provides a plethora of opportunities for me to watch engaged couples shopping for wedding rings. The women look like little girls in candy stores. The men, unilaterally, look like someone just shoved a cacti up their ass.
I've put some thought into this, and I think it goes back to when pretty much all women were housewives after (I'm sorry, I think Domestic Goddess is PC these days), marriage. Old moves, the romantic ones, "romantic pictures," as Joan Crawford described, had one goal...for the woman to get married. That was the culmination. Always. Now, I'm not saying there's anything wrong with that, I'll take an old movie over a new one any day.
In my head, I took this down to street level...this and many conversations with old, old, old ladies, because I love them so much. As they were growing up, their brothers planned college and career. At best, they would plan to "major in M.R.S." as grandma Gail used to say. College was a place to snag a GOOD husband. So from teen years forward, the hunt was on for a husband. Get married young, or the good ones will all be gone. 22 and no husband? A spinster, a hag, or a lesbian.
So with all this buildup, it's no wonder that they want a day, ONE day, where they could stand before everyone, in a dress that took two months starvation to get into, that cost more than the family car, a virtual iron maiden. More on the "can't move in," helpless bride thing in a second. They get the "look at me, look at me!" moment with prezzies, well wishes, and then cans dragging behind a Ford Taurus.
Here is it ladies, the ugly truth: The groom didn't give a flying fuck about any of the procession. He doesn't care about her dress, how "beautiful" the ceremony was, or so and so celebrity or that had whatever in their weddings. He didn't care about the small kitchen appliances and large candles received as gifts. What did he care about? I'm into truth, and here it is...he wanted it all over with so he could fuck his new wife. Do I need to say it again? All he wanted with the dress is to get it OFF of her. Because he wanted her vagina. Her vagina. She's nothing but a vagina in a dress. Trust me.
So, at this point, unless the wife was savvy and listened to her slutty friend, she hasn't done the elbow/back of the forearm/"oops, I didn't mean to do that," method of seeing what her man had under the hood. Yes, I too learned those tricks. I'm not as big of a slut as you think I am. Plus, a "no thanks," saves a wasted rubber. And of course there was no way of knowing if he had any natural ability. I subscribe to natural ability...some men are lousy no matter how much experience they have, and vice versa, believe it or not. So here it is; the moment of truth. He's tiny. And he can't fuck. Oh god, I'm screwed for life. She's glad her bridal suite was on a high floor. But really, she was taught that women aren't supposed to enjoy sex anyway, so it doesn't matter, as long as children can be produced. Which is what she is now that the wedding is over. A vessel, a chef...all that good stuff.
Of course, not all women were this way and interesting things happened with WWII came along. Like I said, I've spoken to these women. First thing, they went to work. "We made bombs," a couple told me proudly. Of course we all know what happened when the men came back from the war...unprecedented copulation, which produced a lot of our parents.
But I'm wandering off topic. If your man gets excited about flower arrangements, the details of your dress...and all that jazz...you're about to marry a fag. yeah, I used the "f" word. Because I can. Because I'm a fag too.
I've spoken to a couple guys with bride fetishes. The fetish is, they want to get to her before the guy in the photo does, rip the dress beyond recognition, and screw her. In this particular picture, they'd also like her huge, fake tits.
If the man looks at this photo and says "that's a lovely (insert designer) dress," run. Unless you want to come home early to your husband on his back.
So finally, if your fiance' doesn't get excited about gauzy white material or the choice between chicken or fish at the reception, don't fret. He's normal. He'd also like nothing more than for you to decide "fuck the wedding, let's go to the court house." If he's a really, really good guy, he'll lie about the wedding to make you happy.
I live next to the jewelry district, which provides a plethora of opportunities for me to watch engaged couples shopping for wedding rings. The women look like little girls in candy stores. The men, unilaterally, look like someone just shoved a cacti up their ass.
I've put some thought into this, and I think it goes back to when pretty much all women were housewives after (I'm sorry, I think Domestic Goddess is PC these days), marriage. Old moves, the romantic ones, "romantic pictures," as Joan Crawford described, had one goal...for the woman to get married. That was the culmination. Always. Now, I'm not saying there's anything wrong with that, I'll take an old movie over a new one any day.
In my head, I took this down to street level...this and many conversations with old, old, old ladies, because I love them so much. As they were growing up, their brothers planned college and career. At best, they would plan to "major in M.R.S." as grandma Gail used to say. College was a place to snag a GOOD husband. So from teen years forward, the hunt was on for a husband. Get married young, or the good ones will all be gone. 22 and no husband? A spinster, a hag, or a lesbian.
So with all this buildup, it's no wonder that they want a day, ONE day, where they could stand before everyone, in a dress that took two months starvation to get into, that cost more than the family car, a virtual iron maiden. More on the "can't move in," helpless bride thing in a second. They get the "look at me, look at me!" moment with prezzies, well wishes, and then cans dragging behind a Ford Taurus.
Here is it ladies, the ugly truth: The groom didn't give a flying fuck about any of the procession. He doesn't care about her dress, how "beautiful" the ceremony was, or so and so celebrity or that had whatever in their weddings. He didn't care about the small kitchen appliances and large candles received as gifts. What did he care about? I'm into truth, and here it is...he wanted it all over with so he could fuck his new wife. Do I need to say it again? All he wanted with the dress is to get it OFF of her. Because he wanted her vagina. Her vagina. She's nothing but a vagina in a dress. Trust me.
So, at this point, unless the wife was savvy and listened to her slutty friend, she hasn't done the elbow/back of the forearm/"oops, I didn't mean to do that," method of seeing what her man had under the hood. Yes, I too learned those tricks. I'm not as big of a slut as you think I am. Plus, a "no thanks," saves a wasted rubber. And of course there was no way of knowing if he had any natural ability. I subscribe to natural ability...some men are lousy no matter how much experience they have, and vice versa, believe it or not. So here it is; the moment of truth. He's tiny. And he can't fuck. Oh god, I'm screwed for life. She's glad her bridal suite was on a high floor. But really, she was taught that women aren't supposed to enjoy sex anyway, so it doesn't matter, as long as children can be produced. Which is what she is now that the wedding is over. A vessel, a chef...all that good stuff.
Of course, not all women were this way and interesting things happened with WWII came along. Like I said, I've spoken to these women. First thing, they went to work. "We made bombs," a couple told me proudly. Of course we all know what happened when the men came back from the war...unprecedented copulation, which produced a lot of our parents.
But I'm wandering off topic. If your man gets excited about flower arrangements, the details of your dress...and all that jazz...you're about to marry a fag. yeah, I used the "f" word. Because I can. Because I'm a fag too.
I've spoken to a couple guys with bride fetishes. The fetish is, they want to get to her before the guy in the photo does, rip the dress beyond recognition, and screw her. In this particular picture, they'd also like her huge, fake tits.
If the man looks at this photo and says "that's a lovely (insert designer) dress," run. Unless you want to come home early to your husband on his back.
So finally, if your fiance' doesn't get excited about gauzy white material or the choice between chicken or fish at the reception, don't fret. He's normal. He'd also like nothing more than for you to decide "fuck the wedding, let's go to the court house." If he's a really, really good guy, he'll lie about the wedding to make you happy.
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