"Honey, I'm home."

Okay, now where are the mechanical dancing bears? This is the disappointing thing. She has been home from work for forty minutes when he arrives and no entertaining show is in progress. A man comes home, hangs his hat and coat, and immediately needs an entertaining show that will trivialize the pain he has gone through that day.

"I need a drink and a hummer."

If people had tails they might be less likely to question the dominant males. Everyone knows that the large, overbearing, truck driving, walnut shell snapping, body odor radiating male is the one who needs to make the rules. Just because economics do not allow the woman to stay home and bake muffins all day does not mean she cannot find some mechanical dancing bears to amuse her husband after his difficult day.

"Why don't you wear that sweater that makes your boobies look big and hangy anymore?"

The questions that are asked are honest, open and forthright. The dominant male wants to know what he wants to know. The only reason he is denied that right is because there are all sorts of nonsensical laws in place to protect the weak and anemic bastards from his wrath. Might makes right. No one will ever debate that point, and yet we continue to protect the lillies amongst us who can't handle a strong wind while the mighty oak tree is fenced off and told to leave the flowers alone.

"Get me some more of that chicken.
I'm not finished eating yet, bitch."

This is the kind of man that all women desire and dream about, and yet they settle for the faux-sensitive males with their weak arms and small genitalia. Why? Because society has taught them that to mate up with a dominant male is something they are just not good enough for. Well, ladies, I am here to tell you that you are good enough. Believe in yourself, and you can have a strong, hairy, powerful bull male who can protect you from muggers and pull your hair when he demands his sexual pleasures. Aren't you tired of men who let you dictate when and where you'll have your next romp? The dominant male will throw you down. He doesn't want to debate, he wants to get himself off.

"You didn't talk to any men at work today, did you?"

Another benefit of this kind of dominant male is that he will not allow you to speak to other men. This is a great excuse to keep other men away and stick to hanging out with your girlfriends. He might fool around with one of your girlfriends, but that is okay, because he probably just had a difficult day and she was flaunting herself in front of him. Remember, don't flaunt yourself in front of anyone except this dominant male you've tied the knot with. Make him happy. Find time to bake muffins and make extra portions at dinner with lots of gravy. He will appreciate it and it will give him the extra strength he needs to backhand you when you've been acting up. This reminds you that you have behavioral problems that must be corrected, another benefit of being with the dominant male.

"That jerk Bob hit me with a beer bottle again. Fix my bleeding, bitch."

Your dominant male husband may become wounded in a bar brawl, work-related tom foolery or other skirmish. The frequency of these events will impact how much medical training you will receive as a direct result of being married to him. Ever check the high cost of medical school? This is clearly a benefit he provides. If he gets into a scrum with you, then you may also be able to practice operating on yourself, which we all know is important in the event you are trapped in Antarctica by yourself and need to have a hysterectomy. So, rethink your theories about sensitive New Age guys and find a real man to marry and settle down with. You'll get to bring him the newspaper, read it to him, please him on demand, make him at least three meals a day, and sometimes if you are good he'll pay five dollars to get you some flowers from a roadside pick-up truck on his way home from work.

"Treat me right, woman.
Don't make no trouble.
Yeah, that's it, put that ointment on my corns."

Stop and take a little time out with me
Just take five...just take five
Just stop your busy day to take the time out to see
That I'm alive...I'm alive

- The Specials

You could listen to TheDeadGuy (see above), or you can:

Take five.

That's what my parents called it. If my father came home tired and frazzled, they'd tell us they were going to take five back in the bedroom.

Five minutes usually became fifteen. It wasn't enough time for my brother and me to get into trouble - and anyway, we instinctively protected that time for my parents, and were quiet while they were in there with the door shut.

It wasn't enough time for anything more than an interlude of peace, but that seemed to be enough. My father would come out happier, more relaxed, and play with us or tease my mother by dancing around her while she cooked with the radio on.

This affected me. I came to understand the power that even just five minutes of kind, caring intimacy can have to soothe and heal a frazzled mind.

When my sweetheart comes over after work, I give him a kiss and take him by the hand back to the bedroom. We snuggle up, and I hold him and stroke his hair while he tells me about his day.

It's a time for him to put things in perspective in the telling of it, and for me to know what's happening in his life at work. I just listen. And if I talk, he listens. It's not so much a conversation as it is sharing.

Of course, sometimes one thing leads to another and five becomes an hour and we end up going out for Chinese in the lateness of the hour instead of making dinner - which we can get away with in the current absence of kids who might, in the interim, be getting into the Draino, hatching plots for total world domination, or banging down the bedroom door demanding chicken nuggets.

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