COLUMN: One wedding: Two wives

By Tobin Barnes
A guy gets married and buys a house.

Happens all the time.

So what’s he got now?

“A wife and a house,” you say, somewhat bemused by such an obvious question.

“Maybe a path to true happiness,” you continue, thinking there must be more to it. “Perhaps marital bliss.”

Good try, but you’re wrong.

Scratch the surface, oh naive one, to see that what he really has now is two wives. That’s right, two.

“You jest,” you say.

“Nay,” I say.

You see, as I said, a wife and a house is two wives.

And to make matters worse, they’re kind of like sisters, both assiduously concerned about maintenance and upkeep, much more than the guy would ever be.

And maybe even more accurately, one is like the lawyer for the other.

Wife number one, the person, not only wants to keep herself up to the nines—some men would call this high maintenance—but she’s also an oftentimes rabid advocate for wife number two, the house.

Men, like me, are quite content to slowly and quietly descend into innocuous deterioration, if not dilapidation—my personal goal. Women and houses, on the other hand, fight the process tooth and nail.

“Women,” as the Roman poet Ovid observed 2,000 years ago, “are always buying something.” (Uh huh, the breed hasn’t changed much.)

This perfected process of perpetual purchase keeps them up to date. Something is always needed, whether it be shoes—always shoes, for crying out loud—clothes, toiletries, you name it. Common words heard around the house are “I need some new....”

But not to worry, all the things women purchase are “on sale.”

Those two words are meant to make men feel better as they trundle off to the poor house, which, by the way, is also “on sale.”

Now this first wife would be plenty for any man. Shoot, one wife is overwhelming.

Add to that the silent demands of the second wife, the house.

Maintenance is a house’s raison d’etre, it’s whoop-tee-do.

At any given moment in a house’s life span, something—large, small, but always expensive—needs to be done. Home ownership is a contract with the devil, and he’s heavily invested in lumber yards, hardware stores, and appliance outlets.

The house produces a never-ending mantra of “And there’s something else that needs to be done.” Except the message is delivered wordlessly with barely heard, but still naggingly audible, sighs. The house plays the silent pity game. One way or another, it will be sure to let the man know that this thing broke, that thing wore out, and the other thing looks shabby.

Yeah, the house, the man’s second wife, puts on a pity party and invites his first wife, who quickly becomes the house’s vocal advocate, the house’s Johnnie Cochran.

Uh huh, “The house is a pit, so you must refit.”

That’s right. You’re the guilty one.

Both wives say so.

Time to cough it up.