Here it is the wedding season. A time when young hearts thrill and rice is spilled and once again women make that spectacular error in judgment and marry one of us men. I can't believe they're still falling for it. You'd think that after witnessing a life-long parade of embarrassing male behavior (from dear old Dad to all their rotten boyfriends), they'd see the light. But no, they're still perfectly willing to say "I Do," puffed-up in their naive assumption that they'll be able to easily fix every “bad thing” about us. The courtship may have gone smoothly enough, but enjoy that honeymoon while you can gents, because upon your return to the love-nest the De-Programming begins. No groom should be surprised to find himself slated for top-to-bottom renovation - televised sports, your single friends, happy hour - it's all gotta go.

        And it's because of this universal state of affairs that we husbands must develop advanced techniques of lying and faking. There are few other options if you want a marriage to last longer than the Jazz in the Post-Season. If you're talking to your husband, chances are he's not paying attention, but he's doing a good job of faking it.  Even though "deep down" we don't much care about your interests and opinions, we're more than willing to nod along and pretend - in order to keep the peace, and, with any luck, get a little.

        The problem with all this lying and faking is that women aren't stupid. They know what a bunch of dishonest, self-centered rats we are, and they have a strong inclination toward checking up on our fictitious reports.  A couple of phone calls and all our lying and faking is laid bare before the altars of judgment. What do we care?  We're guilty of nothing more than altering the truth just enough to avoid an unnecessary skirmish over nothing. We have plenty of other petty and ridiculous things to argue about as it is. If this is a sin, it is a sin we'll continue to commit as long as we both shall live. All this lying would work out just great for all concerned if only it caused a Pinocchio-effect well "south" of our noses.

        Here's the deal: The way I see it, there is the "exact" truth and then there's the "general" truth. The general truth is the kind that it's best to use with your parents. They worry and worry about us, and if you tell them too much of the "exact truth," you're only going to put 'em "teats up" before their time. Example: Report on trip to Mexico, General Truth: "Had a great time, almost caught a Marlin, had him right up to the boat." Exact Truth: "Was almost stabbed by one-armed transvestite in what turned out to be some kind of whorehouse."

        To a somewhat lesser extent, the same wisdom applies to the degree to which you parse out the truth with your spouse. You can be a little more specific with the truth, but again, the "exact truth" is rarely the best thing for anybody. Wives need the "exact truth" like a rapist needs Viagra. They go bananas. "The truth will set you free," may be a lofty platitude, but in a marriage "the truth" may ruin the whole dang weekend. They say that the devil is in the details, and I think they're onto something with that. It stands to reason that by leaving out the details, you eliminate the devil, thereby doing your part to fight the forces of darkness. I'm not saying that honesty isn't the best policy, but as I've just demonstrated - it's evil.

        Some of us guys are willing to go through the motions of a normal healthy relationship, as long as it's convenient, y'know.  We'll ride along on a shopping trip – hell, we might even flip through a few swatches of drapery fabric – but the whole time we're thinking, "Okay, she owes me for this. She better not be grumbling about Monday Night Football. No, I don't know who's playing and what's more, I don't care. To be honest, since the 49ers fell off the map, I don't even know who my favorite team is anymore. I probably couldn't name the quarterback for more than five teams. Which only goes to show how badly I've lost touch with the truly important things. I really should be home watching ESPN. We better go before I get one of my migraines.”

        We're all wrapped up in our own projects and agendas, the ones that are "going to make us a nice little bundle of cash, you just don't worry about that."  Any information that we may offer about such things is only going to be misinterpreted as excuses for avoiding intimacy, or at the very least, yardwork. And we're not about to sit here and argue over something that's none of their dern business. It all boils down to basic chemistry, Testosterone and Estrogen are two hormones that get along about as well as Dr. Laura and some guy who wants his girlfriend to have an abortion because he thinks he might be gay.

        Still and all, I really try not to be a jerk. For example, if I'm behind a woman motorist stopped at a green light, I don't honk - it's obvious that her driving skills have been compromised because she's so pissed off at her husband or boyfriend that she can't see straight. Besides, I hate "honkers" with a passion. Car horns should be awarded only to those individuals who have passed tests and persevered a waiting process more rigorous and intensive than the ones they have for adoption. I know there are a bunch of horny bastards out there who like to lay on it every excuse they get, but remember this: Anytime you honk your horn at somebody, there's a good chance that at least five other motorists are going to hear it and assume that it was intended for them. We all possess a small internal organ that responds to a car horn by sending an urgent "Oh crap" impulse to the brain. "Oh no - I'll bet I left my trunk open? Or my phone on the roof – or my coke – probably my coke." If you feel inspired to express yourself behind the wheel, give somebody the finger. It's easier on everyone's nervous system. I must confess to this obvious digression, but to tell you the truth, I dare go no further into this territory. I'm a happily married man.