Sister Wife Wanted

Like I have a tendency to do when I'm getting my lazy, fat girl on, I sat down with a big piece of birthday pie to catch up on my favorite TV shows and others that pique my interest. Here is where I gloss over the fact that not one of you came over here on Sunday to wish me a happy birthday. It's okay. It's not like I feel unloved or anything. I'll have to tell you about how I went to Atlantic City to celebrate all by myself in another post.

Okay, so maybe I should have mentioned that my birthday was coming up. Whatever. Thirty-eight, thirty-nine, it really doesn't matter because when people ask about my age, I will continue to say "thirty" like it's the truest thing since the Big Bad Wolf.

Speaking of wolves, why is there a wolf in so many fairy tales? What the hell do we have against wolves? What do wolves really represent in fairy tales? I'll have to look into that.

Sorry ADD moment over...maybe.



Anyway, I was watching an episode of Sister Wives that I had recorded. I used to record the whole series, but there's enough bitching about husbands and kids in my life as it is, so now I just record on an as-needed basis. As in I need to know how this one dude convinced four separate women, fucking four, to marry him and have his babies...concurrently. Women can't share bathrooms, opinions on parenting, or recipes, let alone husbands. You know you left out an ingredient when you gave your best friend your grandmother's apple pie recipe. Here she is wondering why hers doesn't even come close to tasting like yours and you're giggling inside your head. Don't even get me started on the discovery that some other woman owns the same outfit as you, like the designer only made one. But this man actually made it sound like a good idea to four different women that they all be married to him and share his love, affection, home, and penis at the same time. That's a charming mother fucker right there, folks.

As I watched yesterday's episode (don't know what day it originally aired as I hardly ever watch live TV) I started thinking about what the advantages would be of having a sister wife. Let's bullet point them, shall we?

• It would be nice to have someone around who can be calm when I'm being a bitch. I can't count how many times I've said to hubby, "When I'm in bitch mode, you need to pick up my slack like I do for you. We can't both be bitches at the same time. They may be poster kids for birth control, but we do love them. Don't we? Really, I need you to tell me how we feel about them." I need someone who gets that. Someone who will relay the message to my clueless kids that I'm in a crappy grumpy mood and should be given some space at that time.  
• Do you know how much money I would pay when I'm not in the mood for sex to simply say, "It's Mabel's turn. Go ask her."? Then Mabel would do the wifely duties thing and I wouldn't have to deal with the morning-after-no-sex grouchiness. Big. I'd pay big.
• And speaking of sex, it would be cool to have someone with whom to commiserate and share notes on hubby's, um, style. Don't get me wrong, he has a knack for getting me there (TMI, I know), but after 17 years of marriage (which I also recently celebrated), things have a tendency to get predictable. Tweak nipples...vulva rub...now a little oral...stroke, stroke, stroke, BIG FINISH...damn, I don't feel like getting up to go pee. Not necessarily in that order or time frame. Mabel and I could brainstorm ways to spice up chandelier-swinging and I wouldn't be left to scour the internet for hours on end all by my lonesome. (If you don't hear from me in awhile, it's because this bullet point has caused my demise.)
• If there were a second or third or fourth woman around here, I could drop the guilt about how I only occasionally contribute to the family's finances. I'd put those bitches to work and I could continue to run the household and write and blog and get fat without a trace of guilt. Why the hell should I worry about getting fat? He has three other wives to gawk at. Let their asses be anorexic. Pardon me while I get another slice of Lemon Supreme Pie. No, really. I'm about to stop typing to take the clothes out of the dryer and since I'll be downstairs anyway, cut myself a fucking enormous modest slice of pie. Be right back.

Okay, where was I?

I'm just saying that they might be on to something. They are under investigation right now and the husband could possibly go to jail for being a bigamist. I don't understand that at all. He's only legally married to the first wife, but lives with and raises families with all the others. Since when is that a crime? If living with a whole shitload of people is a crime, I know a whole lot of families in the 'hood that now have one more thing to worry about.

So what's the problem? They're just saying that he has four wives. Forget about the love and values they share, he doesn't really, legally have four wives. It's not a crime to say shit, freedom of speech and all that. I could say that I'm the Queen of England, but if I roll my black ass up in Buckingham Palace with that bullshit, I'm coming back out feet first. Does that make it wrong that I said it? Maybe in the UK, but I'm not really sure and I don't give enough of a shit to look it up right now.

The government is just mad because they can't tax him four times. Or perhaps that their chronic state of stick-up-my-assness prevents them from being charismatic enough to have four women, who get along with each other, agree to bear their seed and fuck them proper like.

Suggestion, assholes: stop trying to deny people the label of 'family.' There are all different kinds of families. My best friend is more like a sister to me and I sometimes introduce her as such. Will I be arrested for that? Growing up, and I still see kids do this today, I used to pretend that my friends were my cousins. How come you didn't lock me up and throw away the key? Surely, I was a menace to society showing all that love to people who didn't even share my blood.

This is a free fucking country! Why are we letting these bastards decide whom and how we can love?

I'll tell you one thing, though. I'd hate to be around when all four of those bitches hit PMS at the same time.