Ellen Fein, one of the women that co-wrote those ridiculous “Rules” books is getting a divorce, and I couldn’t be happier about it. Some of you may recall that my life intersected with the “Rules” women in 1996 when I was on the same Oprah as they were, offering the man’s perspective on their embarrassingly awful book, thanks to a column I wrote on the subject. I actually had a limo ride with the two of them on the way to Oprah’s studio, and I’m here to tell you that there may not have yet been born a more unpleasant pair of vaguely human bipeds; it was inconceivable to me that either of them could have possibly been married, much less dispensing advice on how to collar a man, since any sensible man would have launched himself into a cruise ship propeller rather than to cross either of their paths.
But that’s not why I’m happy the woman’s getting a divorce. After all, even unpleasant people need love, and far better that they’re married off to someone else so they won’t think to train their sights on you. No, I’m happy she’s getting a divorce because “The Rules” offend the hell out of me. Any relationship that is started under their auspices is inherently dishonest, and the sooner that the relationship unravels, the sooner the woman practicing “The Rules” will realize that she’d be much better off approximating an actual human being rather than the disturbing wedding-seeking man missiles “Rules Girls” inevitably turn out to be. That even one of the alleged masterminds behind “The Rules” can’t make “The Rules” work will hopefully be the crashingly obvious sign any remaining “Rules Girls” need to give it up.
The icing on this cake is that these two dreadful women are about to release a “Rules” book on how to stay married! And the icing on the icing on the cake is that this woman’s soon-to-be-ex-husband will now probably get about half the proceeds from the “Rules” books! Ha ha ha ha ha!
I realize it’s weak and petty to be having this schadenfreude moment at this woman’s misfortune. But you know, I don’t feel the slightest bit bad about it. At all. Primarily because “The Rules” is another one of those periodic attempts to yank women back into believing that they ain’t nothing if they ain’t got a man. It’s not the most recent or even the worst example of this concept—that dubious honor belongs to the “surrendered wife” movement, which states that a woman’s response to any cockeyed decree her husband lays down should be Whatever you say, honey. Here’s the checkbook—but it’s bad enough. Anyone who attempts to screw women over psychologically as badly as “The Rules” authors do deserves to be punished. So I’m just peachy-keen about Ms. Fein getting hers.
I’m going to talk as a man here for a minute, pleading to any woman out there who might possibly be considering expending a brain cell or two on this whole “Rules” or “Surrendered Wife” angle of things. I will begin by saying that I can’t possibly imagine what the Hell is wrong with you that you’d ever possibly be considering something like this seriously anyway—perhaps some heretofore undetected brain damage or recent ruptured blood vessel in your frontal lobes is starving out your capability for reasonable judgment. Whatever the reason, stop. Just stop. The last thing you want to do is put yourself in a position where a man has total control over you.
Why? Well, beyond the fact that it’s an irredeemably stupid thing to let anybody have total control of your life besides you, there’s the more particular matter of the fact that men, invariably, are dumb-asses. Big fat stinky dumb-asses, with dumb-ass ideas about every dumb-ass thing. Why we’re allowed out of the house without leashes is beyond me. And anyway, the sort of man who would enjoy having a “surrendered wife” is almost certainly exactly the sort of man who should not allowed to be in total control over a woman—he’s the sort of guy who will eventually smack her and tell her to shut up and fix him a pot pie. This sort of fellow should have his tibiae crushed by a sledgehammer, not awarded a slave in the form of a wife.
I frankly can’t even begin to imagine why any man would want a wife like that anyway. This morning I was listening to my wife blister the hide of some poor bastard automaton from Sprint, who was feebly trying to argue against expunging some bogus charges from our phone bill, and my heart was welling up with pride and love. My woman doesn’t take crap from anyone, least of all me. It’s one of the reasons I’m married to her, because she’s fearless and straightforward and confident and sexy and she pays all the bills on time.
Were I to decree that from now on I’d be handling all the finances in the home, first she would laugh at me, and then she’d beat me with an axe handle until I came to my senses. When she first moved in with me, all my bills were on third notices, not because I didn’t have the money, but because I was too lazy to go buy stamps. Bear in mind that at the time I worked right next door to a post office. The idea that I should be trusted with the finances merely because I’m a man is just about the stupidest idea since Crystal Pepsi.
(I don’t even want to think about what would happen if I suggested to Krissy that she ought to obey me. “Obey” was the one word she specifically had expunged from our wedding vows. To try to impose it on her now, I suspect, would lead to a quick divorce and/or my body being found, bloated and headless, in the creek near our house. And rightly so.)
However, these sorts of dumb-ass movements outrage me most not for my wife’s sake, who, it should be evident, doesn’t need my protection from crap like this, but for my daughter’s. Every time a book comes out that says to women that they ought to be tying their self-image directly to a man’s pleasure and power, it’s saying that my daughter ought to subjugate herself, sooner or later, to some man’s will. To anyone who would say this, I have this to say: Bite me. My daughter is already delightfully and gloriously headstrong and confident, she’s intelligent and she’s gorgeous. There’s not going to a man alive who deserves to presume to place himself above her, and you can bet that her mother and I are going to teach her to laugh at or break the kneecaps of any man who would suggest such a thing. And to do worse to any woman who suggests it, either.