I’m just going to come right out and say it: I indulge in the occasional fantasy about men other than my husband. I’ll wait while you digest that Earth-shattering bombshell.
Of course, my fantasies are not always hot, steamy, nights of passion and athletic sexual prowess either. Sometimes I fantasize about Adam Levine vacuuming my carpet in his underwear. No, that’s not an innuendo, but now that you mention it…
My point is that it’s perfectly normal to wonder, and even fantasize, about what it would be like to be with another person besides your partner. Especially when we are faced every day with young, fit, wealthy, chivalrous examples of manliness on television and movies convincing us that had we just held out a little longer (or looked like Scarlett Johansson), we might have ended up with one of these leading men.
They cook, they clean, they have high-powered jobs, are loving sons and devoted fathers, yet still have time to make their wives feel like real women in the bedroom (and the kitchen, and the living room, and the car…). They do all this and more, while sporting perfectly pressed clothes, manicured nails, and superbly coifed hair. Who says the media doesn’t objectify men?
So yes, I am not above the occasional dirty daydream about Ian Somerhalder mowing my lawn…and then cutting the grass.
However, the important thing to remember about all of these fantasies is that they are just that: fantasies. I suppose it’s even possible that somewhere out there is a girl who fantasizes about MY husband. Good for her if she can get him to clean the bathrooms, even if it’s only in her mind.
As much as I enjoy my fantasies, I’d like to take this opportunity to assure you (and my husband) that I would rather be married to him than any of the Hollywood heartthrobs that star in my wildest dreams.
Sometimes what makes the guys on TV and in movies so hot is simply the fact that we’re NOT married to them. We don’t have to see all their bad moods, man-flus, and dirty laundry because it’s television, but that doesn’t mean they don’t have just as many gross habits as the men we wake up next to every day.
I don’t care who he is; every man is going to smell like something my dog dragged in, ate, and then puked up after suffering a week of diarrhea-induced cold sweats. It’s only the fantasy that allows us to pretend our celebrity crush has never eaten bad shellfish or picked up a 24-hour stomach bug in his life. In fact, he doesn’t have to use the bathroom at all…or even sleep unless you want him there to cuddle you.
It’s a fantasy, it doesn’t have to be realistic.
In the movies, women wake up naturally with the sun, their hair and make-up still exquisite from the night before, lying next to a naked well-built man with the sheet pulled down to his happy trail. There’s absolutely no dutch-ovening going on under there.
The truth is, the last thing I want to do after a long night of tossing and turning, night-wakings from the kids, leaking breast milk, and more than a few farts that were blamed on the dogs, is to wake up to the smell of fart, sex, and morning-breath rolling stiffly on top of me.
But I have to wonder, even if James Franco really did smell like peppermint and roses after a long night of lovingly spooning me while I slept, would I want to be married to him? After all, at some point someone has to get out of bed, get dressed, and watch the kids. If Mr. Perfect was tempting me with his god-like body and erotic, fresh scent every morning my kids would probably be eating frozen peas straight out of the freezer for breakfast.
I mean, who has the time to spend more than 10 minutes once a week on sex? Mommy has sh*t to do.
Let’s not forget that women, in all our glorious femininity, are still gross humans with our own dirty little secrets to hide. I certainly don’t want to be the unrefined partner in the relationship, but how could any woman possibly keep pace with the level of male perfection in our fantasies?
Have you ever farted during sex? Enough said.
Let’s also not forget the fact that pregnancy is gross. There is no way I’m asking Charlie Hunnam to shave my sweaty bikini area or check my vag for varicose veins.
The same goes for other bodily fluids and functions. I don’t care how hot Christian Grey was in the 50 Shades books, I’ll deck the first guy who rips a tampon out of me without asking.
Plus, I don’t think I’m progressive enough to live with a man who is prettier than me or spends more time and effort grooming. It’s fine when I don’t share a bank account with the guy, but a “back, sack, and crack” wax can’t be cheap. Not to mention the hours spent working out to maintain that perfect V shape of the hips we women love to imagine running our hands over. I’m pretty sure the manly-man fantasy would lose its appeal the first time I had to bleach his sweaty, weight-lifting underpants.
Not even Channing Tatum has cute skid marks.
Let’s face it ladies, men are gross, but so are we. We all have to clip our toenails, pop our zits, and scratch our butts sometimes. Every sexy model or handsome actor you’ve ever fantasized about has to occasionally do an extremely foul-smelling, light-a-match-or-I’m-gonna-be-sick poop. Our fantasies allow us to fool ourselves into thinking some men are perfect, but just because you’ve never had to smell their crap doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. The moment you succeed in landing your dream boyfriend, he will morph horrifically from perfect fantasy to disgusting reality. Then what?
Isn’t it better if we all enter into our relationships knowing and accepting these flaws as inevitabilities?
Perfection is for our fantasies, not our marriages.