‘That could be me,’ says my friend Tim, as he watches one of the Desperate Husbands wade into the swimming pool, in a full business suit, in order to untangle a kink in his Kreepy Krauly automatic pool cleaner. ‘I think some people just don’t realise the pressure we guys are under, trying to balance everything—the job, the kids, the pool chemicals. Finally you snap. Before you know it, there are chlorine stains all over your best Armani.’
Maybe that’s why we all appreciate the ‘wish-fulfilment’ character—the middle-aged man who’s having a steamy affair with his eighteen-year-old housemaid. How we laughed when the wife came home from the office and demanded to know what the housemaid had been doing all day! We knew exactly what she’d been doing: having glorious sex with our Desperate Husband while we cheered them on! We especially loved the scene later on—where the middle-aged bloke has to get up in the middle of the night and secretly iron a whole basketful of pleated dresses—all to convince his wife that the housemaid had done some real work during the day.
‘Been there, done that!’ we all shouted as we watched, wolfing down the nachos—even though the truth is we wouldn’t dare. All of us know too well the difficulties involved in ironing pleats.
Why do we guys like the show so much? I guess it’s because we feel locked in a little; we feel our lives are on a railway track, all laid out. It’s great to imagine that we could jump the tracks every now and then—and do something really desperate. After the show is finished, we sit there, polishing off the last of the nachos, draining the last of the beers, and we start to dream. Could we really just throw off the ropes? The mortgages? The soccer-practice chauffeur service? The emasculated deference to the boss at work? Could there be another way to start each day, other than with ironing a shirt for work?
Who knows? But with the help of Desperate Husbands we’re starting to open up a little; confessing the ways in which middle age is hitting us. Sitting around after the show, we admit we used to think about sex all the time…but now it’s different. ‘I don’t know what’s gone wrong,’ says my mate Ryan, staring pensively at the last of the nachos. ‘Sometimes these days I can go a whole minute without thinking about sex.’ The rest of us nod supportively, trying not to let the shock show on our faces. A whole minute without thinking about sex. Ryan’s situation is worse than we thought.
Desperate Husbands is certainly having its effect. Just yesterday, Tim found he was no longer wearing a tie to work; he’s also swapped his cotton shirts for a no-iron drip-dry number. ‘I just felt: why not? It’s time to take some risks.’
Ryan, meanwhile, is now considering having an affair—just as soon as he clears his credit card sufficiently to be able to pay for the motel room. He also wants to get a bit further ahead in his yoga so he doesn’t do in his back during whatever athletic sex session might be ahead. But after that: straight into an affair, as steamy as he can get it.
And me? Well, I’m just going to stop trying so hard. Sure, I’ll keep the body perfect; and continue to use sufficient hair product so that I always look my best. But this weekend, I may well drop the kids off at the wrong end of the oval for their game; and then let the grass verge go without its weekly trim. After that: an affair, or perhaps skydiving.
Once husbands get desperate, you never know what chaos will ensue.
She looks worried but
I’m not too concerned.
The children are alive. The
house has not burnt down.
There have been no major
outbreaks of disease.
Frankly, I think I deserve
a bloody medal.
We’re in Kmart, the four of us. We refuse to let our anxiety show, even though Batboy is about to get on the plane. He’ll be gone for two and a half months: overseas, on student exchange. Apart from a week at school camp, it’s his first time away. His younger brother thinks it’s funny, as he watches us pick through the store buying final supplies. ‘Our little boy is all grown up,’ says The Space Cadet, using a faux-American accent. ‘Oh, I’m so proud.’ We all ignore him. This is no time for joking.
‘What you really need,’ Jocasta tells Batboy, ‘is a Chapstick. You can put it on your lips so they don’t crack with the cold.’
Batboy says he doesn’t need a Chapstick but Jocasta seems very focused on the idea. ‘I really think you need a Chapstick,’ she insists, her voice edged with what can only be described as hysteria. But Batboy is adamant, and the two of them pause, locked in a stand-off somewhere between Toiletries and Cosmetics.
‘They are really good,’ says Jocasta, picking one up from the display.
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