SWM Desperately Seeking Livestock

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Now, back to our regularly scheduled extremely delayed blog post:

Whatever happened to dowries?

You bright readers know what a dowry is – "the money, goods, or estate that a wife brings to her husband at marriage."

Back in the day, men used to reap the benefits from marriage. Our forefathers got mad paid, yo. I do realize that there’s been a sexual revolution since then and everyone's equal now. I watch the WNBA, so I know about women's rights. However, a majority of ladies do prefer to date the financially secure aka a "breadwinner". In this day and age, many members of the female gender want to find a man to support them so they can kick back, pop out some kids and become obsessed with daytime television. Thinking otherwise is like believing Dog the Bounty Hunter doesn’t drop the N-bomb on a daily basis. It's just naïve, playa.

However, nowadays, all men can hope for in terms of a dowry are the wedding gifts; some dining set that is considered too "nice" for regular meals or, better yet, enough monetary gifts to hopefully cover the cost of a hundred chicken dinners, a few hours of open bar and the videographer that apparently was obsessed with the bride’s plunging neckline. Seriously, we are doing a bang up job of protecting the sanctity of marriage, but I digress...

Dowries. I bring them up because I’ll be hanging out with Aunt Jane this weekend. In terms of conversation topics with Jane, all you need to be is single and beyond your twenties to predict what she’ll want to talk about. You don't even need to be related to her to hear words like "marriage", "children", "not", "getting" and "younger" repeatedly. The best defense to this line of interrogation is a quick funny that will be inappropriate enough to force her to change the subject.

Thus, my planned rejoinder to her queries is that "I'm holding out for dowries to make a comeback. Get me a homestead and her dad’s best cow for my trouble. Hey, I just want my forty acres and a mule like any other brotha."

While I’m worried that "reparations" humor might go over my aunt's head, I like comparing "dating in your thirties" to being a carpet bagger. Dealing with the shell-shocked and battle-scarred at an unwelcoming place that you never imagined yourself going. That’s dating in your 30s in a nutshell.

So, in closing if you have any video of brides with awesome cleavage or doing strange things to livestock, feel free to for them to hatemail at wojr dot com.

wojr

Labels: Advice, DeadPool, Sex, woj

  ¶ 1:42 PM