Today, I am Man.

Posted: September 29, 2012 in Pregnant Wife Stories
Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

Earlier this week I happened upon.  No, no, no, let me be honest, because Whitney is going to read this and she will know that I am being dishonest lying.  About a month ago a tragedy happened.  My wife and I were leaving our home to attend a movie together.  Our driveway is above average in length, which means that things that happen at the end of the driveway are far enough away from the house that they occur unbeknownst to us.  As we got to end of the driveway, we saw it…the scene of a crime, a horrible, unsolicited attack on my mailbox.  There it was frail, barely clinging to life, its mouth flung open like a boxer just hit with a left hook.  Its red flag pointing downward bent beyond the joint’s range of motion.  Nails were broken out of the wood, but somehow, the post was still able to support the aluminum house for travelling letters.  Only now, the box was ripped 90 degrees to the left from the destructive nature of the impact from the vehicle that hit it.  It needed to be fixed, so what did I do?  I did what any self respecting young man on his way to the movies would do—I stood it back up and drove off vowing to Whitney that I would fix it.  Whitney muddled something under her breath that sounded an awful lot like sarcasm with a side of doubt and disappointment.

Okay, so for reals now, yesterday I happened upon slow agonizing death in action.  I pulled up to my home and saw what was coming for a month now.  On the ground, in two pieces lay the beat up mailbox and two feet from its lonely grave rested the post, which once supported the box through rain, sleet, and snow.  I was to be tested this morning, and I would prove myself—MAN.

With a hammer and nails, I created life!!  I took a mailbox destroyed by a teenager who sucks at life and at driving, and with the tools that have been the staple of manhood for years, brought it back to all its mail holding potential.   I was a man today for thirty entire minutes.  I swung that hammer with authority and purpose driving the nails into the post.  Two cars drove by and noticed the swagger with which I made two into one.  They saw what a man does out there, and they were impressed.  I waved at them as they passed, and our eyes met momentarily and they approved.

I grabbed my man tools and headed into the house where I was certain I would receive the praise of a king returning to his kingdom from the battlefield—victorious.  In a black nightgown up at the top of the stairs was my fair, impregnated maiden.  She saw it too.  She saw a man walk through the doors of her castle, and she was impressed with his tone of walk.  I shouted out, letting it echo through the house, “I am Man!”  I was going to grab my crotch and spit on the floor, but it seemed like it would have been met with disappointment.  Instead, I flexed every muscle in my body and drooled.

I marched around the entryway of our home and moved things, and stomped, and grunted, and said things like, “I created fire!”  When I calmed down and let things get quiet, I heard Whitney say the following statement:

“A man’s job is never finished.”  Without letting a second past, she retracted and corrected her statement, “Well, with you, Heath, a man’s job is always halfway finished.”

Either way, people.  I fixed the hell out of that mailbox, and for today, that is enough for me.  I will thrive off of this for two weeks.   The day that the baby decides to introduce itself here, I am sure will be another day of unabashed masculinity.  I will have created life.  Just like I did today with that mailbox.

I just wanted you to know, because I have been holding it in for years.

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Comments
  1. Congrats on the mailbox! And I’m pretty sure I’d kill my husband if he ever spit on the floor…

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