A woman will marry a man.
They do this because, to them, it is important,
and the way things must be.
They do not always marry the “man of their dreams,”
but they give it a go, anyway;
they firmly believe they will bring about changes
in the man they have accepted as a life mate.
They grow up with little girl dreams and thoughts
of brave knights in armour on white chargers,
braving dragons and fighting duels to defend them,
the poor helpless but beautiful creatures that they are.
They are fed the nonsense from childhood, and believe it,
that they are the most important part of a life
between two creatures that are so dislike
as to cause most to weep,
if they examine, too closely,
the way things are with men and women.
The merger of two companies,
even two with similar purposes,
is hardly something to throw parties about,
as there are always victims of such a thing;
those that lose their position,
those that accept their new position,
although it is not what they had hoped it to be…
much like a marriage.
So why do people, amatures, actually,
enter into the bonds of matrimony,
if they really have no idea
of what the hell they are getting into?
Because they are naïve,
and think that everything will be just fine;
everything will work out and be simply wonderful,
one day possibly maybe hopefully.
After all, all the movies and novels show it to be that way.
Sadly, that is not the way of the real world, real life,
and no man has “the life of Riley,”
and no woman has “the perfect marriage,”
once she sits down and thinks about it.
This thinking on her part usually starts
about the end of the third week of wedded bliss,
and continues from that point onward through time eternal.
And, as a side dish, the wife becomes more and more upset
with “how things are.”
The man she married is not allowing her to mold him
to what she wants him to be,
she is not able to make him understand
that he must go out and secure a job that pays well;
VERY well, in fact, as she has her dreams, after all.
After a few years she finally realizes
that she will not have her palace,
her summer home on the ocean,
vacation cruises, really nice automobiles,
elegant dining, expensive clothing,
and she will not become known as the wife
of a particularly successful man,
with other women being jealous of her for that.
No, she will be just another wife,
locked into just another life
that is neither grand nor simply wonderful,
and her husband prefers Sunday football on television
to “jaunts in the park of an Autumn afternoon.”
By this time there are children,
usually too close together so that they are
a tiresome handful of unbound energy,
and after thousands of dirty diapers
and runny noses and whining temper tantrums,
the wife is just a bit more than tired of it all.
In fact, she’s disappointed in her life.
And at that point
she begins to tell her husband about it.
That’s when the husband
starts working later at his job,
then he takes a second job driving cab
(just to help out financially, of course)
so he doesn’t have to go home,
because he has learned,
all too quickly,
that a disappointed woman is very hard to ignore.

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