There is a promised land out there. Contrary to what some will tell you, it isn’t the Baseball Hall of Fame, Jimmy Buffet’s Cheeseburger in Paradise, or even Israel. No, this is a place and lifestyle that can be conjured up anywhere through nothing more than the magic of personal apathy and a high-salaried, business-savvy spouse.
The trophy wife concept is nothing new—for years wealthy male executives have been in a perpetual arms race to try and find the woman with the most symmetrical face, the least amount of opinions, and the tightest butthole. Now, though, we’ve evolved into a progressive age. These days there’s another side to the coin and unmarried, educated women are no longer categorized as only librarians, teachers, or witches.
Sure, the push for workplace diversity and equality has crowded the corporate ladder for our industrious brothers. However, it’s enabled a good amount of girlfriends and wives to have the kind of fancy jobs where it’s totally coolio for us lethargic types to just mooch off them and stay home watching Maury all day in sweatpants.
Trophy husband life sounds like wonderful, lucid drug fantasy. Entire days where pants are optional and the only obligations are packing the kids’ lunches, cleaning a few dirty dishes, and giving the mailman a handjibber. Plus, if it’s ever becomes overwhelming, you can always gloss everything over with a good wine buzz. Free from financial worry, you’d be able to focus on things like philosophy, philanthropy, and, more realistically, daytime television. When people asked you how you were doing you could finally respond with “living the dream” and not mean it ironically or sarcastically.
The goal is lofty, but attainable. Namely, it’s hard work that can pay off into never again working. Rational thinking yields two schools of thought on being able to dig your grubby, unwilling-to-work claws into her for long enough to acquire squatter’s rights to her estate or penthouse. It won’t be easy, namely rich company directors and blood diamond heiresses aren’t found at your usual hangouts with dollar beers and bathrooms that get hosed down every other night. The hunt is tough and inevitable, but, if it were simple, we’d all be trophy husbands by now.
Familiar with office projects, it’s safe to assume that a fair amount of these career-focused women are looking for a relationship project as well. They want something they can tear down and build back up in a way that’s catered exactly to their tastes. Ideally, one auspicious day, you’ll slouch down next to them in your stained t-shirt and ripped bathing suit that you’ve been using as shorts. Your musk of cigarettes and questionable decisions will overwhelm their senses and they’ll realize, after looking at your shoes and teeth, that you or your family doesn’t have any money and that you’re absolutely perfect. You’ll become her Pretty Woman. And, as long as you’re strategically showing slow, yet noticeable improvements in some areas, she’ll keep bankrolling your laziness and you can ride this caviar train all the way to being buried in a mausoleum.
Now, it’s a critical part of fundamental basketball and fundamental casual sex; yes, the rebound is always a solid tactic. She’s used to dating the fancy, polo-playing business types, but then you move in, Jack Dawson the situation, and introduce her to a world of eating hot dogs in kiddie pools and drinking on public buses. In this plan you’re a refreshing breath of rancid, unrefined air in her world of wealthy WASP-y boys. Now your Hot Pocket-only diet and bathrobe-centric wardrobe are charming and you now living on the easiest of all streets.
Of course, if you can’t find a suitable baroness or CEO’s daughter and you realize that you don’t care about status, dignity, or nice things, you can always just become a trophy husband of the state by simply lying your way onto welfare.
Justin Gawel is an adult baby from Michigan whose articles appear on BroBible most Thursdays. Look for more of his writing, his BroBible.com archive, and his updates at www.justingawel.com or follow him @justingawel on Twitter.