Did you know 9 out of 10 men are put to death by their wives if they dare glance in the direction of another woman? With my bold, marriage-saving epiphany, I’ve figured out a simple way to stay alive: I’ll let my wife do the ogling for me.
This epiphany occurred at a traffic intersection, which is ground zero for male-ogling. A beautiful woman walked by our car, and some primordial instinct caused me, against my better judgment, to look her way.
I think I tried to camouflage the ogle by acting like I was studying oncoming traffic, but my wife was too smart. She smacked me on the head with a clothes iron, which she carries in her purse for such occasions.
In all fairness, this really isn’t a man’s fault. Many women seem predisposed to making themselves look beautiful. Whether it’s a skintight dress or a glamorous hairstyle, some (not all) ladies like to be noticed.
Even if women don’t flaunt their beauteous beauty, they’re just naturally more attractive than men. How many sweaty offensive linemen would draw an ogle from you lady-folk?
This last point is critical, and I know it to be true because the next time we were at a traffic light, a beautiful woman approached the crosswalk. Instead of looking at her, I looked at my wife. I was shocked at what I discovered.
Why Women Check Out Women More Than Men Check Out Women
My wife was staring at the beautiful woman walking through the crosswalk. Full out staring.
I realized that, like myself, she instinctively looks at other women. But why? Is she comparing herself to them? Is she envious of the woman’s handbag? Is a woman better eye-candy than a sweaty offensive lineman?
Probably yes on all counts. So it’s ok for her to look. But the moment I look at a woman, I am smoten (smoten?) with a clothes iron.
To avoid such punishment, I decided to let her look first. That way, she’d get all transfixed, and wouldn’t notice me sneaking a peek. This worked exceptionally well for weeks, until one fateful day.
We were at an intersection, and I sensed my wife lock onto a thing of beauty. I slyly followed her gaze, but there wasn’t a beautiful woman in the crosswalk. It was Adam Levine, the cursed pretty-boy leader of Maroon 5!
Levine has transcended the teenybopper ranks and now every middle-aged woman in the galaxy has a crush on him. My wife unabashedly pines for his helium-accentuated crooning and coat-hanger physique.
In a flash, I reached into my wife’s handbag, pulled out the clothes iron, and fired it at Levine. WHAP-O! It smote him upside the head, and he stumbled into the path of an oncoming semi. My wife’s crush was crushed by a sixteen-wheeler.
I’m now doing time in the state pen for killing Mr. Levine. Let my mistake be a lesson to you men. Let your wife stare first, but be forewarned – she might not be staring at what you want. So for God’s sake, leave the clothes iron at home.