• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

I have spent over twenty-five years going through this exercise two or three or sometimes five evenings a week with the exact same woman-my wife Ann. So at some point a while back I decided to give in and stop swimming upstream and you know what?

Something wonderful happened.

By letting all the anger go, by allowing the distemper and the exasperation to just slip away, by forcing my ire and chagrin and my miff and my tiff and my huff and my puff and my pique and my dander and the speeding express train of torrential goddam curse words about to explode out of my mouth to-instead-evaporate (and by staving off my hunger with a wad of roast beef wrapped in Swiss cheese)-I had a revelation:

Relax, man. Just relax.

It's not your wife.

It's this really hot chick trying on different outfits.

Which means-at its basic, most raw and bottomest best:

You get to see a sexy girl nekked.

And once you embrace that theory-man, have you ever hit the jackpot. 'Cause if you love your wife and she's still got it going on-wow.

Sit back and swoon, brother.

My wife looks better than ever and I gotta tell ya-it's like you're at your own private fashion show.

Wait-it's better than that.

It's like you're simultaneously watching a fashion show AND you get to be backstage at the exact same time.

She tries on an outfit-then she saunters around in her bra and panties looking for another outfit.

She takes that outfit off-and her bra-so now she is topless! Holy shit.

Then she puts on heels and tries on a cocktail dress.

THEN-she decides she has a VPL-Visible Panty Line (ya gotta get the lingo down pronto)-so she slips her panties off and-if you're lucky-decides the dress makes her hips look too full so she takes that dress off and goes in search of another-MEANWHILE you now have her naked and in stiletto heels wandering back and forth right there in front of you-God, what a gift from above.

When I was a teenager, a hot chick strutting her stuff in your bedroom was considered an impossible event and here it is happening multiple times a week for free? I'm telling you, fellas-once you use my system and take what we used to think of as a task and reimagine it as a fun-filled hobby-it just doesn't get any better than this.

What I do now is run downstairs and stuff some beef in my mouth, get changed real quick and then sit on the edge of the bed in the master bedroom and let the games begin:

I don't think that's the right dress, honey.

VPL alert, honey-VPL alert. Let's get those panties off.

I think we're gonna need a bigger set of heels, honey.

I like that top but try it without a bra.

It turns being late for dinner into an entirely different animal. Look-we get ready to go out by grabbing one of our two dinner jackets-check to make sure there are no holes anywhere or at the very least only one or two small pinhead-sized holes and maybe a couple of minor coffee stains that really don't jump out at you because the jacket is brown to begin with PLUS the barely there dollop of mustard that sits in a splotch on the shirt you just grabbed off the floor of the closet is a bigger concern because throwing the thing through a ten-minute cycle of Dewrinkle in the dryer ain't gonna make the yellow disappear from a white shirt but that's why you wear a yellow tie and tie it extra long and voilа-two palm-prints of Aqua Velva 'n you are more than ready to rock 'n' roll.

Her? She likes to linger.

And look.

And linger.

And-here comes the good stuff-primp and preen and reach and flounce and stride and ankle and stretch and parade and-maybe my personal favorite-sashay.

I love it when my wife sashays.

You should feel the same way when your girl does it.

Happy wife, happy life. Not to mention lots of giant boners.

Let's take this theory and run with it.

CHAPTER 15 - Testicle-Colored Towels

Actually, the proper name for the color is Testicale.

Testicale being a fake Spanish word I just made up. It means "ball." As in "my balls hurt." (Hey-I