October 30, 2009; Couplehood

What it's about: being able to snooze

I was sitting with the Mooks watching one of those idiot talkshows which features the same-old, same-old when one of the guests, a D-list celebritard, decided she was going to expound on couplehood.

First she explained that she had several kids, each from a different man, and that the kids all had a relationship with their father but that none of the fathers lived with this woman. She also explained that she liked it this way and that it gave her, her various exes, and her children a sense of freedom. I thought, "My God, she'd make a great dog! Fucking whatever walks by when she's in heat, putting out a litter of puppies, and then getting on with her life until it was time to wave her little snatch into the wind to attract the next batch of horny males!"

But the silly cow would not shut up while she was ahead and went on to explain that she thought that monogamy did not work and that she had an ideal situation everyone envied and that everyone was happy in it.

As I listened to this little nit, I had a good long look at my local couple—the Mooks—and wondered what they were thinking about what she said and about how, after 16 (going on 17) years, they accessed their relationship. I mean, there are mobs of people—dicks in hand, fingers in twats—who will line up to tell you that couplehood does not work and that they are all doing what comes naturally to all animals: waving their weary, chapped gonads at anyone who might sniff. But is this really true?

The Mooks, as I may have mentioned, do not swing from the chandeliers naked or plow each other up against the stove when the mood strikes (and I am profoundly glad of it); but they have discussed the success or failures of their life together. Lately, because Mook A is sick and is deeply grateful to B just for being there, they seem content. Also, when B comes home from work and natters on endlessly about the people he has to deal with, A actually listens and B is pleased by this. I mean...this is something, isn't it? I suspect that the aforementioned quasi-famous dunce doesn't have much to talk about with her various exes (Kee-rist, she doesn't have much to say, period...), and I suspect her only form of communication is shooting something male a glimpse of her crotchless panties, falling on all fours and then singing a rousing chorus of "Let me smell yo dick."

Here, in La Maison Mook, beyond the "I'm sick" and "I hate my job" stuff, there is a very quiet communication and I am a central part of it. These guys are tired...a lot. Someone is always sleeping in the living room—A on the La-Z Boy or B on Couchzilla—and whoever is not sleeping lives around it. There is no resentment. How do I fit in? Well, it appears that it has become my job to jump up on whoever is sleeping and snore along with them. There is a kind of peace.

Occasionally, when they are not tired (or eating—their second favourite passtime), they are discussing a movie or the news and really getting into it. I'm not saying they agree on everything (indeed, they agree on very little), but if you want to see the energy of couplehood looks and sounds like, this is when it happens.

Sure, in terms of mad, hole-driven fun the dithering TV twit is ahead in the race and, sure, there are more body fluids spurting about her place and, yes, her apartment probably has a more heady aroma (something like a crack whore's cooter), but I'll bet you good money that the starlet's kids are not nearly as centered or calm as I am (and that, in the future, one of them will make an appearance on a water-tower).

And another thing: when it comes to monogamy and couples and what have you, she doesn't have a fucking clue what she is talking about.