My marriage is in crisis ATM. I think that a little comprimise could solve the entire issue, but Ginger isn’t willing to meet me halfway. Here’s what happened.
Last night we were watching highlights from “Coming to America” starring Eddie Murphy, including the scene in the bath where the topless woman comes up out of the water and says “The royal penis is clean, your highness”. That’s when it hit me. That phrase, that magnificant phrase, would be the key to my happyness. Oh how I would love to hear that phrase fall from the honeyed lips of my georgeous wife as she bared her breasts. I immediately made this desire know to her. I assumed that she would be thrilled. Something she could do, something so simple, which would bring instant happiness and joy to me, her one true love.
She was not as enthsiastic about my plan as I had hoped.
Well, fair enough, marriage is about compromise, isn’t it? I first offered to treat her to frequent renditions of my best Wesley from “The Princess Bride”. “As you wish” on demand was a pretty nice concession on my part, but she wasn’t impressed.
Hmmmm.
Next, I tried to lessen the sexual imperative of the phrase. We don’t have to use it in the bedroom, I offered, in fact, that’s something I would like to hear anytime. Why, she could even say it places where it would be impossible for any sexual contact to occur, like: The grocery store; “Honey, do we like Libby’s corn or Green Giant?” “Speaking of giants, The royal penis is clean, your highness”, the laundry; “Should I put these in the big washer?” “No need for the big washer, The royal penis is clean, your highness”, or the movie theatre “Let’s see Titanic!” “I’ve seen it, and The royal penis is clean, your highness”.
This suggestion was met with catcalls, even when I made the ultimate concession of not requiring her to bare her breasts when uttering it if we were in public.
So, we remain at an impass. Frankly, I don’t see what the big deal is, especially since we’ve been going round and round about it for long enough that I am sure the phrase is burned into her brain to the point where if she gets pulled over by a cop and he askes “Where’s the fire?”, she’ll prolly respond “The royal penis is clean, your highness” ( which, now that I think about it, might get her out of the ticket anyway. Yea, all of this is in her best interest, damnit! )
Thus I humbly petition you, my fellow dopers, for ideas. What can I do, what concession can I make, in order to get my wife to speak those seven magic words? The entire future of my marriage depends on y’all, please don’t let me down!
