Last night I was putting on the XXL faded-pigment-dyed black men’s t-shirt I wear as a nightshirt, and I was thinking about how no one is ever happy with what they have. There are probably times that Paul wishes he’d married the kind of woman who wears slinky little nothings as pajamas. And there is probably a man out there, married to a woman who wears slinky little nothings, and he’s wishing he were married to the kind of cutie who sleeps in one of his t-shirts, all charmingly oversized on her, plus a pair of socks. I mean, probably, right? There’s got to be at least ONE guy who doesn’t want the fancy wrappings, right?

It’s the same with hair and make-up. I’m not much for it. And I assume there are times when Paul’s eye is caught by some chick all styled up. And probably that woman is married to a guy who wishes it didn’t take her two hours to get ready in the morning, and that she wasn’t always screeching about her hair getting messed up. (Look how quickly we turn on our own: all a woman has to do is have different grooming habits from me, and suddenly I’m using a verb like “screeching” to describe her.)

It’s too bad, but we only get ONE choice. Well, or two or three or four, or you could even keep going but that starts to get expensive in terms of lawyers and alimony and child support and taking crappy offers on the house just to get the sale over with and so on. Let’s call it one at a time, then, because probably there are men who go from a high-maintenance wife to a low-maintenance wife, and with the former he’s wishing for low, and with the latter he’s wishing for high. And let’s not take into account the branch of Mormons that would let a guy experience both at the same time, because that’s getting too complicated and beyond the scope of this column, which was supposed to just be about how Paul can wear a teddy himself if he thinks they’re so great.