The Marriage Files

Premise: All men are jerks, and all women have rocks in their heads.

This is how my friend M— (a man) sums up male/female relations. (Actually, what he said was, “All men are a**holes, and all women have sh*t for brains,” but I'll try to keep this reasonably clean.)

When he first said this I was, of course, mildly offended. I mean, the first half is just obviously true, no explanation needed. But the second part?

Out of deference to M—, a clever guy and a man with whom I can converse about such things because our relationship is strictly platonic, I figured I’d give him a chance to substantiate his outrageous statement. He didn’t disappoint me. He’s absolutely right: all men are jerks, and all women really do have rocks in their heads. Here’s his argument:

“All men are jerks. The proof is empirical. Spend enough time with any man, and you will find yourself saying, ‘What a jerk!’ When a woman meets a man and starts going out with him, she tells herself, 'At least this one isn't a jerk.' When she finds out that he is (because they all are), she slaps herself on the forehead and says 'I've got rocks in my head.'" Neat, huh?

And as with so many other things, courtship and dating are where this simple truth that M— discovered reaches its peak of expression. Take one of the Budweiser commercials in the “True” series broadcast during Superbowl XXXVI. A woman is shown looking through racks and racks of greeting cards for the Valentine’s Day message that’ll convey to her smarmy-looking boyfriend her most tender feelings for him. The commercial makes it clear that she spends a lot of time doing this. Cut to her boyfriend, picking up a 6-pack of Bud at a convenience store. At the last second he eyes a small and nearly empty rack of greeting cards with hokey messages and golden sunset covers. As an afterthought, he picks one up and tosses it on top of his beer. In the final scene, she reads it and proclaims it “perfect.” Moral of the story: he’s a jerk, and she’s got rocks in her head. (Feel free to insert M—‘s original words here; it makes more of an impact.)

Sad to say, I’ve got more than one example from personal experience. For instance, my courtship with K—, now my beloved husband. He had the nerve to ask me to marry him after a month-long speculation ALOUD on whether he could live up to a vow of fidelity. It sure sounded to me like he was having a hard time accepting the idea, even conceptually.

Now, those of you who have been married a while will be thinking ”What does THAT have to do with marriage?” Little did I know it at the time, but fidelity is the least of the problems that’ll consume you once you’ve tied the knot. What he and I should have been worrying our heads about was things like managing a joint checking account (they say money issues sink more marriages than anything else) and disputes about wall paint colors. These are the things you will argue about. But newlyweds and the engaged think fidelity is a big deal.

K— weighed freedom against fidelity. Blondes figured prominently in the former. I, of course (a brunette), was the sole choice in the latter. The scales seemed to tip rather onerously, if only because it’s hard for one woman to outmeasure all other women combined, unless we’re talking sheer poundage, in which case I’ve got a fighting chance. The only consolation I had was the knowledge that redheads were not up for consideration—I think he had a bad run-in with a redhead once, and it made a powerful impression. The scales shifted almost imperceptibly.

Despite the fact that K—opted for fidelity in the end and has made good on the bargain to the best of my knowledge, was he a jerk for subjecting me to his thoughts about the desirability of other women? You betcha. Did I have rocks in my head for agreeing to marry him under the circumstances? Even if the marriage works out (and so far, it has), the answer is “YES!” because the odds for long-term domestic bliss sure weren’t looking so good at that moment! Anyone with something other than turds in her noggin would have sent him packing. But we women are trained like circus animals. The tragedy of having sh*t for brains is that knowing you’ve got sh*t for brains doesn’t help any—because you’ve got sh*t for brains!

The great thing about my friend M—‘s premise is that it finally frees women from the misguided notion that there are places to meet “good” men. Now we have conclusive proof that a woman’s chances of meeting a man who’s not a jerk are always exactly the same: nil.

So ladies, stop avoiding online dating and chatrooms for fear that the men searching for companionship online are somehow sub-par. In fact, my friend M— is the proof of the pudding. He’s a regular online dating maven. He’s lived in three cities in three years (nothing to do with child-support payments, I assure you), and in each one he’s elected to get to know women electronically. Here are his thoughts on the subject:

“My dedication to online-dating didn't originally have anything to do with sex (honest, it was just curiosity), but having discovered that many women who use on-line dating aren't averse to recreational sex, I've taken advantage of it. I'm not stupid.”

Indeed, M—, you’re not. You’re just a man, and readers, you can fill in the rest.

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