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With that type of lifestyle comes certain expectations, especially around holidays. Sure, there are always charity events we’re expected to host, fundraise for, then attend while dressed to the nines—not as fun as it sounds while heavily pregnant. But there are also unwritten rules about how we’re expected to conduct ourselves in our own homes and in our relationships.
The sad fact of the matter is we live in shark infested waters. Predators constantly wait in the wings for time, stress, and age to take their usual tolls on even the strongest marriages. A wife who lets herself go physically or doesn’t understand the anxiety of the latest job hurdle or who is necessarily separated from her husband for weeks at a time because of work can find herself quickly replaced by a younger, more understanding, easier-to-be-with model. Hell, several of the moms in our group are their husbands’ second or third wives. They understand all too well their time with him may be limited, regardless of how deep their love runs in the depths of their hearts.
Which means the month leading up to any holiday sends everyone into a tizzy. What possible gift do you buy for men who can afford vacation homes in Hawaii? The simple answer is you don’t buy them a thing. You give them the gift of attention.
Because everyone knows men who perform at the top tier of the food chain love attention. They need their egos stroked regularly and often. It’s part of what makes them so good at what they do. It’s also part of why they stray so easily.
Most people in modern society have heard the phrase sex sells. It’s hard to argue with the facts. I’m almost glad some days that I don’t have the opportunity to take Robbie to the mall, where nearly nude women with Photoshopped bodies beckon shoppers inside with false promises of making them feel the way those models look. Women who find themselves needing to nurse their infants in public are shamed for exposing themselves. It’s such a disgusting double standard.
In this circle of women I run with nowadays, that marketing-tested script has been turned on its head.
Sex buys.
It buys love, devotion, vacations to said Hawaiian home, diamonds. Most importantly, it buys more time.
For weeks, the conversations have focused on which racy lingerie to buy, what the best Kama Sutra positions are for a man who’s recently had knee replacement surgery, whether inviting another woman into their bed to fulfill his fantasy of a threesome might be worth opening that door to potential infidelity. These women aren’t stupid. They realize very well every time they raise the bar in the bedroom, it only sets the expectations higher for the next time. Yet they never succumb to running out of ideas.
I admire their resourcefulness and tenacity even as my heart breaks for them.
I’ve already stood on the shore where they’re still staring into the murky depths, hoping that only dipping their toes in the water will be enough though eventually, they find themselves waist deep in darkness they can’t back out of.
The truth they haven’t discovered yet is you can’t buy a man’s love. Not even with sex. Because if he really loves you, he knows the raciest, dirtiest sex in the world fades with time. If he really loves you, he’s staring out toward the sunset on that phase of life, planning a future that spans well past the breakers to the calmer waters beyond. Forever sailing under a dark sky, counting the stars of possibilities together.
What he really wants most of all is for his wife to stand beside him as he formulates these plans, to trust him to do right by his family, and to make him feel like she couldn’t possibly navigate the turbulent waters of life without him.
What every man really wants is to be needed.
I check my watch again. Rob should be home in about ten minutes. The house is a wreck as planned. I haven’t rested today, so I don’t have to fake swollen ankles, exhaustion, and an aching back.
He’s going to walk in, take one look at everything, and hopefully remember that even though I usually can do all this without him, I know I don’t have to. I trust him to pick up the slack when I falter.
There’s no one else I want co-captaining this ship of our lives.
