My husband pays all the bills, so I OWE him blowjobs, right?

http://jezebel.com/elizabeth-wurtzel/

Many years ago, a young girl, the product of a broken family, decided to deal with her crippling depression and anxiety by swallowing copious amounts of fluoxetine, otherwise known as Prozac.  She chronicled her journey down the rabbit hole of psychotropic medications in a book called Prozac Nation, which was an immediate bestseller, and launched a genre known as the “confessional memoir”.  Her use of selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors has led her, all these years later, into a life devoid of any accomplishment or affection or admiration.

“I have no husband, no children, no real estate, no stocks, no bonds, no investments, no 401(k), no CDs, no IRAs, no emergency fund—I don’t even have a savings account”.

Hey, sign me up for Prozac!  Sounds like a world of good times. So here is Wurtzel, with no husband, fucked up beyond belief, weighing in on relationships:

“I am committed to feminism and don’t understand why anyone would agree to be party to a relationship that is not absolutely equal. I believe women who are supported by men are prostitutes, that is that, and I am heartbroken to live through a time where Wall Street money means these women are not treated with due disdain”.

Oh ho!  Really?  Really, Lizzie?  We’re prostitutes, are we?  And due disdain?  What the hell is that?  Should all the housewives of New York be lined up, have their heads shaved and be marched down the streets while the proper women leave their cubicles to jeer and throw apple cores?

The idea that women who are financially dependent on men are prostitutes is not new, and in a way, doesn’t bother me at all.  What’s wrong with being a prostitute?  I think I have every right to determine the value of my sexuality and to trade it for cash, should I choose to do that.  My body, my choice, right?

Then again, maybe not.

No, what I object to in Wurtzel’s despairing accusation is that my relationship with my husband is a strict quid pro quo exchange of one service for another.  It’s Wurtzel’s insistence that an equal relationship can only be measured by one metric:  MONEY.  A  marriage is a vehicle for the EXCHANGE of wealth.

That leads to only one conclusion: If my husband earns all the money, I must OWE him something for that, and in Wurtzel’s mind, that one thing is SEX.  Wurtzel didn’t say women who are supported by men are HOUSEKEEPERS, because that would mean I owe my husband a clean house.  She didn’t say women who are supported by men are CHEFS, because that would mean I owe my husband food.  She didn’t say women who are supported by men are NANNIES because that would mean I owe my husband childcare.

Nope.  We’re PROSTITUTES, so that means what I owe my husband in exchange for my keep is BLOWJOBS. Lots of them.  What’s the street rate for a blowjob? I’m not sure.  Let’s say $50?  Does that sound fair? So we’ll put Mr. JB’s salary at $100 000/year (I’m not really sure, I pay very little attention to those details).  That means I owe Mr. JB 2000 blowjobs every year.

Jesus.  That’s over 5 blowjobs a day, no weekends off!

As an aside, Mr. JB says I can have Sundays off, as long as I pick up the slack the rest of the week.

So in Wurtzel’s mind, I have two choices:  I can ante up and deliver my fair share of blowjobs, or I can get out there and earn some money, thereby reducing my blowjob workload.  If I picked up a job for say, $50 000/year, I would be down to just over 2 blowjobs a day.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what a truly equal partnership looks like!  Microsoft Excel is going to be useful in keeping track of all this.  I’m also going to need some kneepads and probably a whole lot of Prozac to survive this kind of equality.

Is it any surprise that Wurtzel finds herself without a husband or children?  When you view the most private and intimate relationships as merely a vehicle to exchange things of value, you end up alone with nothing of any value at all.

Here is what DOES get exchanged in a marriage:  love, first and foremost.  That feeling of knowing someone else, and being known. Of accepting someone else, for all their flaws and foibles, and being accepted in return.  Knowing yourself to be valued and respected and adored, and waking up every morning next to someone you yourself value and respect and adore.

Dignity comes in a close second.  Putting together a life that includes a home and friends and children and pets and enough time to enjoy all those things in a meaningful way is a lot of work.  One person needs to earn the money to make all that possible, and the other person needs to do the work to make it all fall together, and there is tremendous dignity in succeeding, or at least trying.  My husband doesn’t look at me and think “you lazy bitch, where’s the cash”? He looks at me and thinks “thank you for this life”.  And the feeling is mutual.

Modern marriage can be a real trap, especially for men, who tend to earn more money than women, and in a culture that sees marriage as primarily a vehicle to exchange things for cash value, the highest earner has the most to lose.  Women like Elizabeth Wurtzel, who promote the idea that a marriage between equal partners can only be measured in terms of dollar values are the principle reason marriage is such a mess.  Why enter a contract in which love and respect and dignity and value are seen as superfluous to the real measure of value:  a bank account statement?

She’s a good cautionary tale, too.  Wurtzel has nothing.  So that theory worked out well, didn’t it?

Let’s be clear:  sex in marriage is an absolutely fantastic thing.  It’s the glue that keeps couples together.  Sex promotes the production of hormones and feelings that drive human pair bonding, and it’s just a whole lot of fun.

http://www.youramazingbrain.org/lovesex/sciencelove.htm

Love is an art, but it’s a science, too.  Here’s some advice from a woman who has been married for 13 years and counting:  when your husband pisses you off – like, really pisses you off – take off all your clothes and make love to him.  Then discuss your issue.  You will find your rage has dissipated, the problem (whatever it is) becomes surmountable and he will probably give you whatever you ask for.  It works.  Trust me.

Check out these cute boots!

Wait!  Did I just say that?  I had sex with my husband so he would buy me cute boots?

Er, yep!  God, I’m such a whore!

Lots of love,

JB