The ‘Whipped Husband
w00t! Bye bye Lakers! I was sure the Spurs were gonna choke in the 4th at Staples, but lo and behold, those kids couldn’t miss a shot. Shaq and Kobe were M.I.A., and the “world champs” (egh) got beat on their home floor in an elimination game by 28 points. Talk about gettin bent over.
A few days ago, I headed over to Old Orchard mall to get my mom a Mother’s Day gift. Not really knowing where to begin, I headed first to Crate and Barrel. Here I was exposed to that sad breed of male whom I had previously believed to be merely a creation of sitcom writers. Not so. He exists. His name: The ‘Whipped Husband.
The ‘Whipped Husband is being dragged around by his wife. Literally. The ‘Whipped Husband stares on with glazed-over eyes as she picks up plates, placemats, trays, utensil sets. “Don’t you just love this color, honey?” “Yes, dear.”
It’s a sad, sad sight. I saw one ‘Whipped Husband actually engage in semi-conversation about a tablecloth/placemat “khaki motif.” I seriously wanted to intervene on this man’s behalf. I wanted to whisk him away, buy him a cold Bud, and talk about nothing but football and farting for an hour and a half. But I couldn’t. This man was a prisoner of his own making.
I found Crate and Barrel to be a singularly overwhelming store, however, so I moved on, eventually stopping in at Pottery Barn, which seemed much more manageable. There, an affable, attractive, homosexual man named Jay helped me pick something out. I once again observed the sad sight of several ‘Whipped Husband—this time with the added accessory of sub-five year-olds in strollers. It was painful.
Fellas: If you know a man in need, help him out. Don’t let him end up like that.