My Three Married Friends And Their Impending Divorces

I have three male friends who're married. They're not particularly happy or well-fed, but they like the idea of having someone to argue with, so they stay together. Regarding their sex lives, I'll say that all three have, at times, confessed to me it's only after marriage that a man really understands the adaptive significance of masturbation. "The first fish that crawled onto land, he was married. You know why he left the ocean: because you can't jerk off underwater."

All three friends are contemplating divorce. Here's why:

Guy #1: "My wife can eat more than I can."

My friend Jeremy married his wife Elaine over a year ago. They'd dated for three years, and were regarded as a perfect match. He wanted to make her happy, and she let him. But since their marriage he's been wondering whether it's a relationship to which he can really commit. "She can eat more than I can," he says, "and that really makes me uncomfortable."

Elaine is probably at her scientifically determined weight. Though she doesn't work out, she looks like she's in decent shape. But she can eat more than Jeremy, and that really bothers him. "We went for wings last night, and she polished off thirty. I had twenty, and I was full. I said, 'You don't have to put on a show.' And she laughed at me. Then she kept on going. After fifty I told her she was getting the cheque. A fat guy wanted to take a picture with her. At dinner she eats an entire lettuce. She's not even hungry, she just does it 'cause she knows it bothers me. It was her birthday last week, and she ate the entire cake. I had one piece. I bought her a giant chocolate heart for Valentine's Day, and it was gone in two hours. Two pounds of chocolate! She freaks me out. My mom says I should give her an ultimatum: reasonable portions, or I leave."

Guy #2: "My wife insists on driving when I'm in the car."

My friend Mike's wife insists on driving when he's in the car. He's a good driver, but she won't let him drive. She likes to be in control, and she's mean. (She's also an oral surgeon, which has caused other problems in their relationship: "She'll only blow me. We never have intercourse anymore. It's 100% blow jobs. She says the mouth's good enough. Do I know what the mouth can do? she says. 'The vagina' this is her speaking, 'has nothing on the mouth.'" I know of three men who were married to female dentists: two of them are the reason there's a cage around the Bloor St. Viaduct, and the third makes his own pickles.) Mike's wife pulled up beside me in her Hummer (with its vanity plate: PAYIN. All Hummers have vanity plates; that way the assholes know where the money came from), and there he was, tucked into the passenger seat while she pencilled in her eyebrows. It was just so sad. "She won't even let me listen to music. She chooses the station because she drives," he said. "And when I tell her I'll drive, she says no. Why? I don't know. But she's putting on foundation, mascara--she's drinking a huge coffee. And I look like an idiot. You should see her reverse. She puts her arm over the back of my seat. I can't take it anymore. The toilet seat's never down in our apartment. I don't know what the hell's going on."

Guy #3: "I don't like the way my wife sits on the couch."

Mark's wife Gillian sits on the couch with both legs crossed under her body. Her legs and feet are actually on the couch. "I walk in the room and there she is, cross-legged, on the couch. Her feet never touch the floor. You don't sit cross-legged on the couch. And she does it everywhere. In the kitchen. At restaurants. We were at North 44 last week, and she sat cross-legged on this beautiful, expensive chair. First she took off her shoes, and I knew what she was going to do. I said, for crissakes, at least take the banquette, but she likes chairs. On the TTC? She's cross-legged on those red-plush-aluminum seats. People look at her like she's crazy. And she kicks me when she sleeps."