Lordy, lordy…you’d think that after being married for roughly a hundred years that I would know better than this. You see, to my way of thinking, hubby and I are not just roommates or “co-parents” we are each other’s biggest supporters. We do, or should, help each other achieve the happiest, most personally satisfying life we can imagine. And though I didn’t include it in my marriage vows, “I got your back” was definitely implied.

Sometimes that takes on the appearance of helping each other accomplish a goal or encouraging the other to take a risk and try something new. SOMETIMES it looks like a smack to the side of the head to dislodge an unnecessarily dangerous or foolhardy notion that has managed to take hold…like the time someone read an article suggesting that because the State Department had become such a dangerous place to work, overseas appointments were close to 20% unfilled. Rather than thinking, “Wow, that IS a dangerous line of work.” this person thought it would be a grand time to get a job in AFGHANISTAN and leave some of us to raise the five children by ourselves for somewhere between two and four years. Because that course of action ran an approximately 85% chance of divorce or homicide, there was a strongly worded dissent issued. When that failed, we may or may not have ratted someone out to his mother.

So you’d think that I would know enough to be on guard against those seductively exotic ideas that certain men are susceptible to. Ideas that were bred in the early days of their childhood play, then encouraged by mandatory high school readings of Kipling or Hemingway and finally, cemented with a viewing of Lawrence of Arabia. I think here I’m going to create the perfect word, feel free to use it if you’d like– these ideas are “bromantic.” They conjure a masculine world of yesteryear, full of intrigue and exotic locales and living by your wits and danger! They lurk many, many places and can take hold without warning so perhaps I am to be forgiven for not catching this latest one earlier than I did.

My biggest mistake was not tracking our Netflix queue. I just blithely allowed hubby to watch or stream whatever struck his fancy. If I had been more vigilant the mere title would have tipped me off. “Out of the Wild” is nothing my hubby should watch. It’s a reality show about nine strangers, dropped off in the middle of Alaska without the benefit of prior survival training or the moose-hunting skills of it’s former Governor. They have no idea where they are or how long it will take them to find their way out. They have nowhere near enough food and precious little time to learn to hunt, fish and/or gather before winter sets in. Did I mention the bears???? The only saving grace is that each person is given a GPS locator and once they are starved or frozen or maimed enough to call it a day, they can individually press the button and a rescue helicopter will come and swoop them away. I only caught the last three episodes at which point hubby was completely, totally hooked.

I saw the look in his eye as he turned a wistful glance my direction. “Oh, HELL no.” I told him, “I would press the button the first morning we ran out of coffee…. and don’t make me call your mother.” Hubby sighed and turned away. And though he may not believe me now, I am being totally supportive. It’s awfully hard to live your best life after your skinny, half-starved carcass has been eaten by a bear.
The Rise & Fall of a Momocracy

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