4. On moving in together

"Things will be exciting for a while," he said, "but soon you'll be jerkin' off in the bathroom."

I love living with my fiancée, Emily. I love eating taquitos together in bed while drunk. I love watching marathons of House Hunters with her. We moved in while we were dating, and after the first year I was ready to propose.

But hot damn, truer words were never spoken.

5. On marriage

I get married next March. I'm pumped. I genuinely can't wait to spend my life with my soon-to-be-wife. But at the same time, some weird feeling has surged in me ever since I've gotten engaged. Soon I'll have a ring, and no one will check me out anymore. I'll be fucking invisible. Just like Lord of the Rings; slide on the ring and, poof, I disappear.

Contemplating my impending Frodo-hood, I've felt a strange wave of sexual energy rising. I find myself incredibly horny all the time. The strangest things turn me on. I've talked to other recently engaged male friends who tell me they feel the same way. A buddy got married last year and said he flirted constantly with women until the wedding.

I don't like to flirt; I haven't had game since 2008, so I don't kid myself. But I do find myself staring at women on the street, on the subway, in line at the grocery store, etc. Not in a creepily intense way, like Michael Fassbender during the opening sequence of Hunger, but a casual linger. Just to see if the woman is looking too. Just to know if I've still got it. Because soon I'll have to stop looking, beyond a quick glance, or I'll be that married sleazeball gawking at the employees wearing yoga pants in Lululemon.

Recently, my dad sensed this, as we sat in his car one morning after working out at the gym. Or if I'm being honest, he caught me staring at some woman in spandex walking her dog. And then a woman in a gray business suit waiting for the bus. And then a nurse in blue scrubs holding a coffee. And then —

"There are a lot of good-lookin' women out there," my dad said, snapping me out of my reverie.

"Yup," I said, still glancing out the window.

"But you know what, Eric? Pussy is pussy and asshole is asshole. Some are just deeper than the others."

I looked at my dad to see if he was laughing. He wasn't.

"All these women may look good, but that doesn't matter. What's most important is the heart of the person you're with. Everyone's looks fade. Titties, balls, and asses all start sagging at some point. That's gravity, motherfucker. The inside of your wife and how you relate to her is more valuable than looks, because you're going to spend more years together looking ugly than pretty. I've seen men fuck around over the years, thinkin' a new pair of drawers will be better. Eventually they have the same issues with their mistresses. It's all the same headache. Now listen up: you found someone very special. Emily is a damn good woman. She has an amazing heart, and that's worth even more than how beautiful she is. So don't forget it."

I haven't. I won't.

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