An Angry Man's Birthday, Part II: Wife

"Wife" has become a quaint word, but it's a wonderful word. Neck-and-neck with "mother," it's the most wonderful thing to call a woman. It says - "You're everything I wanted, and all I've got."

I like being a "husband." Like having a wife - mine in particular.

A husband earns money, dresses up for his darlin', takes her to her favorite place, adores her, thinks she's pretty on their first date, lovely on their second, and exquisite and awe-inspiring as time goes on. That's what a husband does - he doesn't force himself to do any of that. If he has to force himself, then, he married the wrong woman.

What does a wife do? I'm not judging, saying "a wife should be this," I'm going on the experience of having a magnificent wife. She treats her husband like, out of 3 billion possibles, he was the best and only choice. Treats his birthday like Christmas and New Year's combined, like the day is a fireworks event.

She looks like your perfect fit. My darlin' and I have been compared to Duke Wayne and Maureen O'Hara in "The Quiet Man." If some Hollywood casting director were casting husband and wife, we'd have been cast.

She draws upon her own creativity and talents and drive to do amazing things, then gives her husband all the credit for inspiring her.

She loves the dog she and her husband bought together and even though he's only four years old, her heart is already breaking at the thought of losing him.

She thinks her husband's faults are a riot (e.g., crankiness), until those faults become injurious. Then she talks to her husband not like a child, but like a partner in life, about tobacco, whiskey, whatever it may be, asking, what does this do to us? How does it come between us? How does it come between you and everything you want?


Finally - she endures when she should be indulged. Suffers when she should surfeit (it's an old word, look it up, means "having plenty"), compliments when she has every right in the world to complain.

Doesn't mean An Angry Man shouldn't be angry. Good thing there's laws against vengeance and vigilantism, else, I'd be one busy guy. My first order of business would be to tour the United States looking up a succession of wankers who weren't worthy of my darlin', knocking on their doors, and saying, "Hey! Remember S___? She's got a message for you, and I'm it." Then seriously, furiously, mercilessly, delivering that message.

So no - having just the right woman in your life doesn't mean An Angry Man should start smelling daisies. But it means there's respite from that anger. Every day, An Angry Man can for a time shut off his ticked-off-itude, smile and laugh, and be grateful for something.

And on his birthday? Selfsame woman, who makes every day magnificent and worth living and worth fighting for, puts on that killer black dress and gives him a cake. As if the day before wasn't fabulous already. She's more happy about my birthday than I am.

So - Happy Birthday, my cheeky darlin'. It's my birthday, not yours, but you make it a holiday.