Why I Beat My Wife When My Steak Isn't Medium Rare

I had ordered paper trays at work, four levels of planes for me to fan out my papers upon. They arrived with the office’s mass order, and as the secretary sifted through the box, she came upon the paper trays.

“Those are mine,” I told her.

She looked from me, to the paper trays and back to me. She was unsure about handing it to me. “I can’t tell if you’re serious,” she confessed.

Bingo-bango! I get this comment a lot (about being serious, not the bingo-bango thing). Making people laugh is easy for me; it provides the illusion that I get along with people. But my constant joking has that lingering effect. Really though, I’m avoiding having direct focus on myself. So believe it or not the topic this close me aren’t going to be terribly frequent—so savor this rare flavor.

I have to admit the paper tray scenario threw me off. “Haha—psych! No way those are mine, idiot!” I mean, I fuck with people, but not randomly enough to provoke the kind of paranoia that one should doubt I would have use of a common office item.

I get the “are you serious” look in bunches from the unfortunates new to the experience of having a certified Bastard in their life. This effect bleeds through to different aspects of my life, and now that I’m indulging in the self gratification of a blog, the question is being shot my way again.

Currently, the biggest concern is people are worried Mrs. Bastard has sobered up and is leaving me. Let me assure everyone, she’s addicted to at least three substances only I can provide—so she may stray but she aint going far.

Honestly though; she’s been my girl for 11+ years now. We’ve actually grown into one of those annoying happy couples who genuinely like each other. My poor wife is pretty much one my best friends—which makes a kind of sense, as it’s a short list that includes some of let’s say are “unique” individuals.

It was not instantly that way—we worked through a couple rough years to get here, which as near as I can tell is an unavoidable step. The great thing is we got married young. I was 18 and she was 16. Our births are separated by a year and a half. Oh, and she was pregnant with our love child.

So, there wasn’t anyone at our wedding with either of the following thoughts firing:

“These kids really have a chance!”

-or-

“This is a great idea.”

Regardless, my wife and I have watched with much glee as other lesser, higher ranked relationships festered and broke apart, withered and wilted in the dark misery that only two adults forcing a bad situation can produce.

Those couples who are staying together “for the kids,” are our favorites because there’s no way kids notice there parents are the most miserable when together, and really, an unhappy marriage a great reason to drink. I also admit there’s something about hearing how another baby is going fix everything--it just turns us on.

Here’s a few reasons why I think we made it whilst other couples—especially the very young couples, didn’t.

We grew together. My girl isn’t one to jump in and participate in all of my interests—but she loves hearing about them, or at least can fake it well enough that her questions sound more genuine that obligatory. So even as I went from ignoring sports to being a hardcore baseball fan (of the non­-fantasy league type), she’s been there. She accepted that she had to love the Dbacks and just went with it.

We both like sex. No two people I’ve met have the exact same sex drive, libido and kinky side. I think all of us have those aspects included in our sexual selves—and many more not mentioned, but me and Mrs. Bastard’s are pretty damn close, and if nothing else we’re definitely on the same page.

There are some mismatches though. I don’t like make up sex as soon as her, for example. The fight might be over but I need longer than average to cool down. She likes to be reassured all well; and for some reason doing it after a fight does that for her. Me, I’m more of a, “I unpacked my suitcase—quit kissing my neck!”

The big three. They say the most common reason for divorce fall into three major categories (and a zillion sub categories). They are—money, sex and religion. We agree and have similar beliefs about all three. In fact, we generally agree—what’s for dinner, should we beat the kids, what time should the Valentine’s hooker show up, that kind of crap.

There are more reasons; but really, how much of this can you people want to hear about. So just remember; jokes aside, Mrs. Bastard and I shouldn’t be anything to be concerned with. Go with it. Laugh. It’s ok. I’m really actually kinda nice to her.