Things I've Learned From Women Who've Dumped Me - Ben Karlin [18]
But she isn’t there.
Lesson#7
Technology Can Be Friend and Foe
“The Internet may not be he best way to meet guys, but it sure is a fantastic way to break up with them.”
Lesson#8
Eggs Must Be Broken . . .
by Tom Shillue
On Sundays I take the baby out to the park. It is all daddies on cell phones pushing strollers. We look at each other and smile—gosh darn it if we aren’t the coolest guys in New York City—in our baseball caps, with a Starbucks in the cup holder. Most of the dads look like Moby. A few look like Wayne Gretzky. But we’re all equal in the park.
“Give your wife the morning off?”
“Yep, sure did. Told her to relax, get a pedicure.”
“Nice.”
I always like to help out with the baby. A car seat has to be adjusted or a whole new larger car seat has to be installed or perhaps the same one has to be turned to face the opposite direction. So I do that.
I help with bath time. Not in a useful sense, but I am there for support, and if my wife has to go get a washcloth, I make sure the baby doesn’t drown. I also lean over and make faces so the baby looks straight up while she gets her hair rinsed. That is a big help.
But more importantly I make sure I am always available for date night with my wife. We get a sitter and go out to dinner, just the two of us at a nice restaurant. I’m sure my wife appreciates this—and it’s not just because several Web sites have confirmed this is something that should be done—I like doing it, too.
So I’m the perfect husband. And everything is as it should be. But it wasn’t always this way. If one pulls back the blinds and peers out into the yard of my past, you’ll find the rusting carcasses of many failed relationships, right there, up on blocks. I’m not hiding them—they are out there for everyone to see. But were they really failures? Or did they all have meaning? Serve a higher purpose? Did they all briefly run, and then die, so my current, blissful family life could purr like a . . . I don’t know . . . is GTO a car? Whatever car runs really well. That.
To put it in more academic terms, those carcasses/girlfriends couldn’t have known it then, but they were a prestigious prep school for Happy Marriage University, where I am currently enrolled. Or rather, each was a prep school that I got kicked out of, before finally being accepted at HMU, which, I’ll have you know, was in no way a safety school.
Without a doubt, the two-year relationship, or “fake marriage,” is the perfect place to prepare for real marriage. It provides a man all the trappings and pleasures of marriage, but requires no more commitment than that of a softball league or car lease.
Here’s how it works: Somewhere early in the two-year relationship, the guy will do something bad. Not bad enough to get dumped, but just bad enough to breach confidence. He will offer an apology of sorts—something along the lines of “Sorry, but that’s just the way I am”—which will leave the relationship in a state of limbo. This is the “commitment sweet spot” for a guy. Trust is shattered, but sex continues and the bathroom still smells good.
For those wondering how that breaks down into a formula, it is this:
Happy Fake Marriage→Callous Behavior→Half Apology→Détente
The relationship will slowly play itself out, and eventually end, unremarkably. But don’t be fooled—these relationships are far from meaningless. (I had nine of them!) They prepare a man for a successful long-term relationship by providing a “what not to do” template he will be able to follow in the future.
In a fake marriage, you will get away with things a wife would simply not allow. For example—men don’t like to plan ahead. Women do. In one of my fake marriages, with Alison, I insisted no plans be made more than forty-eight hours out. I would say, “Honey, where I am in my life right now, I need flexible scheduling.”
This annoyed Alison, but I held firm. And it worked. I got just what I wanted—no planning ahead. (Alison eventually dumped me with no warning whatsoever. What could I do,