For anyone who stumbles upon this blog while searching for compiled information, research, or academic discourse about, or even kitchy advice for, modern married men, this is what you need to know. I do not claim to epitomize, exemplify or typify married males in the 21st century United States. I am a “modern married man”, but I represent an exceedingly small proportion of this population for the following reasons:
1. I live in Seattle, pansiest of cities. It’s a city where 40-something men with full heads of gray hair push their infants around in shopping carts at Trader Joe’s on weekday mornings, speaking to them in heavily-accented French.
2. I teach in a prison, most bleeding-heart of jobs. I’m not like the real men - the Corrections Officers, or COs - who grin while putting their control tactics to use on aggressive members of the Mara Salvatrucha, using wrist locks to bring them to their knees.
3. I have no kids, though not for lack of trying. Instead of the joys associated with birth, I’ve had to endure the agony - and agony, it is - of helping my prospective baby mama get through one miscarriage and one stillbirth in the past 2 years. If I’m lucky, I’ll be one of the 40-something fathers mentioned above.
4. My wife and I are proud owners of a 20-pound Westie-Poo that cost $550. This is not a dog that you’d see in a Wrangler commercial, chasing a stick thrown by Brett Favre.
5. The internal combustion engine does not make my weenie erect. I don’t drink beer at Nascar events (sorry Shane, but I still think Nascar is the driving force behind our Middle East policy), meet with the local off-road jeep club, or watch monster trucks at the Tacoma Dome.
Now that we’ve got that out of the way, let the narcissistic blogger begin!
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