If My Wife Were so Perfect, She’d Have Better Taste in Husbands

If there’s one thing I like about my wife…that would be a discouragingly low number.

But if there’s one thing I like about my wife, I like that she likes me. There’s something intoxicatingly attractive about a woman with such good taste.

She’s my biggest fan.

And I wish I could return the favor.

I used to be her biggest fan until I made a disheartening discovery: People like her better than they like me.

A lot better.

When mutual friends see me without my wife and make the tired joke, “Where’s your better half?” they really mean, “Where’s your better three-quarters?”

When I make new friends I avoid introducing them to her for as long as possible. Once they’ve hung out with her they’ll be unlikely to hang out with me again unless Mrs. Greatsby is coming along. And if a friend does agree to hang out with me without Mrs. Greatsby, I begin to over-analyze the friend and think: What kind of terrible person would like me better than her?

But to all you friends and family and mistresses who prefer her company to mine and think she’s so perfect, here’s a bit of dirt that may shatter her perfect image:

Dirt #1: She’s not as loyal a friend as you might think. One time she refused to provide me an alibi when I was out all night with friends. When I got home in the morning and she asked me where I’d been all night, I whispered back, “If my wife asks, tell her I was with you saving orphans from a tire fire,” but she refused to back me up. Some friend.

Dirt #2: Actually, that didn’t happen because she would never ask me where I’d been all night. She’s too supportive and would never nag. She would never ask me where I’d been in a suspicious tone or ask why my clothes were covered in blood or why we had to change our names and move to China. She’s too supportive and refuses to criticize my bad habits, emboldening me to greater and greater heights of bad behavior.

Dirt #3: She’s a librarian but famously terrible at returning books to the public library. When we lived in America her accumulation of overdue book fines prevented us from being able to afford vaccinations for the kids and almost prevented me from getting my X-Box.

Dirt #4: I asked her to start wearing glasses to complete the sexy librarian look but she refused, claiming her eyesight was fine. But if her eyesight is fine, how come when I said I was just as good looking as Brad Pitt she said that wasn’t true?

Dirt #5: I can’t prove this, but I suspect she’s been plucking my hair at night to make my hair thinner. When we got married I had a thick head of hair. Twelve years later and it continues to get thinner and thinner. There must be a connection.

Dirt #6: She doesn’t like kittens, claiming she’s allergic. Sounds suspicious. I’m not a doctor or a scientist, but if the body becomes sick or irritated when it comes into contact with something cuddly and adorable, doesn’t that hint at something evil in your DNA?

Dirt #7: She couldn’t be so perfect. If she were so perfect, she’d have better taste in husbands.

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My post Unromantic Gestures contains a lengthier explanation of how badly Mrs. Greatsby hurt me when she refuted my claim of being as good looking as Brad Pitt.

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