"Everybody Loves Raymond" Except his Bitch of a Wife
If I were ever to miss my ex-wife (other than the sex, not likely), all I would have to do is turn on an episode of "Everybody Loves Raymond" and watch the way his wife uses whatever tools at her disposal to manipulate and denigrate the man she supposedly loves. It feels just like being at home.
Typically the plot goes like this: She asks him to do something, then when he does it, complains that he didn't do it right, or that she changed her mind, and didn't really want him to do what she had asked, but something else instead.
In one episode, frustrated by their noncompliant daughter, she asks him to disciplline the kid, he does, then she gets upset because now she has to follow through on the discipline.
She decides they need a parenting class, drags him to it, and then Ray does a better job of active listening, so she gets mad about that, too.
So, Ray gets laughs by walking around looking dumfounded as he tries to figure out the woman he loves.
The woman who doesn't give a crap about how he feels, assumes her feelings are the most important consideration in any situation, and has no reservations about browbeating him for whatever real or imagined way he has slighted her.
When she's the one who slights him. Over and over, episode after episode.
It reminds me of an on-line advice column I read, in which a woman wrote that she was so frustrated by her husband because he worked two jobs to help put her through school, and he still tried very hard to help around the house.
Where's the problem?
Oh, when he helped with the laundry, sometimes he didn't do it right. Or he didn't clean the house the way she liked. Or didn't put the dishes away where she wanted.
Talk about looking for thorns in the rosebush.
It never ceases to amaze me that, no matter how good she has it, a woman can find something that could be better ... and then acts like her life sucks if she doesn't get it.
Another one of the major plotlines in "Raymond" is his bumbling efforts to get his wife to "put out."
She acts like she finds him disgusting, and has little or no interest in having sex with him.
He complains that she never initiates sex, and she says, "What about last week when I asked you to give me a backrub?"
Wait a minute ... if she wants sex, why isn't she offering to give him a backrub? (as an aside to all the ladies reading - if any made it this far - the best way to initiate sex with your husband is to shake hands with Mr. Johnson - he won't misunderstand that clue.)
Comedy is funny because people understand it. They've lived it.
My ex would withhold sex to control me (not conjecture, she admitted it at the end). Any slight, whether real or perceived, might be used as an excuse. I found myself practically begging.
But, conversely, I had better be ready any time she was, or I would have to listen to hours of being accused of cheating on her.
I finally had enough, and quit asking. After about three weeks, she came to me, and I said, "No." She went through the roof. After she had screamed and yelled for about an hour (can any guy out there imagine how it would be received if we screamed and yelled every time our significant other said "No"?) I finally told her, "I'm done begging for sex from you. And, if you treat me like shit, and then want to have sex, I'll say no. I don't need to humiliate myself to get laid."
Things changed after that. For a while.
The funniest thing was that we had more sex than ever during the month between when I told her I wanted a divorce, and when I actually walked out the door. What was that all about?
An epilogue:
After I left, I was seeing a very tall, thin woman. When my ex (five feet tall and fat until I left her) found out, she felt the need to tell me, "You should probably be with a more petite woman."
"Why's that?" I asked.
"You were always enough for me, but you might not have enough to satisfy a taller woman."
She then went on to tell me, "Oh, by the way, I now have independent confirmation that I'm good in bed."
"Having a freakishly tight vagina does not really qualify you as 'good in bed,'" I told her.
Two things I've realized since my divorce:
1. Love and hate are not really opposites. They actually lie very close to each other on the continuum of human emotions.
2. I don't have to humiliate myself to get laid.
Oh, and one more thing, in my defense, I now have several independent confirmations that I do, in fact, have enough to satisfy a taller woman - just in case you were wondering.
If I were ever to miss my ex-wife (other than the sex, not likely), all I would have to do is turn on an episode of "Everybody Loves Raymond" and watch the way his wife uses whatever tools at her disposal to manipulate and denigrate the man she supposedly loves. It feels just like being at home.
Typically the plot goes like this: She asks him to do something, then when he does it, complains that he didn't do it right, or that she changed her mind, and didn't really want him to do what she had asked, but something else instead.
In one episode, frustrated by their noncompliant daughter, she asks him to disciplline the kid, he does, then she gets upset because now she has to follow through on the discipline.
She decides they need a parenting class, drags him to it, and then Ray does a better job of active listening, so she gets mad about that, too.
So, Ray gets laughs by walking around looking dumfounded as he tries to figure out the woman he loves.
The woman who doesn't give a crap about how he feels, assumes her feelings are the most important consideration in any situation, and has no reservations about browbeating him for whatever real or imagined way he has slighted her.
When she's the one who slights him. Over and over, episode after episode.
It reminds me of an on-line advice column I read, in which a woman wrote that she was so frustrated by her husband because he worked two jobs to help put her through school, and he still tried very hard to help around the house.
Where's the problem?
Oh, when he helped with the laundry, sometimes he didn't do it right. Or he didn't clean the house the way she liked. Or didn't put the dishes away where she wanted.
Talk about looking for thorns in the rosebush.
It never ceases to amaze me that, no matter how good she has it, a woman can find something that could be better ... and then acts like her life sucks if she doesn't get it.
Another one of the major plotlines in "Raymond" is his bumbling efforts to get his wife to "put out."
She acts like she finds him disgusting, and has little or no interest in having sex with him.
He complains that she never initiates sex, and she says, "What about last week when I asked you to give me a backrub?"
Wait a minute ... if she wants sex, why isn't she offering to give him a backrub? (as an aside to all the ladies reading - if any made it this far - the best way to initiate sex with your husband is to shake hands with Mr. Johnson - he won't misunderstand that clue.)
Comedy is funny because people understand it. They've lived it.
My ex would withhold sex to control me (not conjecture, she admitted it at the end). Any slight, whether real or perceived, might be used as an excuse. I found myself practically begging.
But, conversely, I had better be ready any time she was, or I would have to listen to hours of being accused of cheating on her.
I finally had enough, and quit asking. After about three weeks, she came to me, and I said, "No." She went through the roof. After she had screamed and yelled for about an hour (can any guy out there imagine how it would be received if we screamed and yelled every time our significant other said "No"?) I finally told her, "I'm done begging for sex from you. And, if you treat me like shit, and then want to have sex, I'll say no. I don't need to humiliate myself to get laid."
Things changed after that. For a while.
The funniest thing was that we had more sex than ever during the month between when I told her I wanted a divorce, and when I actually walked out the door. What was that all about?
An epilogue:
After I left, I was seeing a very tall, thin woman. When my ex (five feet tall and fat until I left her) found out, she felt the need to tell me, "You should probably be with a more petite woman."
"Why's that?" I asked.
"You were always enough for me, but you might not have enough to satisfy a taller woman."
She then went on to tell me, "Oh, by the way, I now have independent confirmation that I'm good in bed."
"Having a freakishly tight vagina does not really qualify you as 'good in bed,'" I told her.
Two things I've realized since my divorce:
1. Love and hate are not really opposites. They actually lie very close to each other on the continuum of human emotions.
2. I don't have to humiliate myself to get laid.
Oh, and one more thing, in my defense, I now have several independent confirmations that I do, in fact, have enough to satisfy a taller woman - just in case you were wondering.
posted by James Hitchcock at 7:44 AM
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