(Thanks to Helluva for linking to this)
Ah, the Smoking Gun — while they usually just manage to dig up dirt on celebrities (because who among us doesn’t want to see the mightiest of the American Dreamers brought down to the level of the trailer park?), this time they’ve posted something really interesting: Travis Frey’s marriage contract.
Travis Frey, if the newspapers are to be believed, is a shitheel of the highest order. Iowa man, my age, two kids. But let’s not even bother with the fact that he’s been arrested on charges of kidnapping his own wife or downloading child porn; that’s all alleged anyway, and not fact. It would be wrong to convict a man in the press, before he’s had a right to fair and impartial trial.
No, in this case, let’s just go with that contract. Seriously, you need to read it. Go on; I’ll wait. Feel free to chuckle, giggle nervously, or vomit. All are valid forms of self-expression when confronted with something like this. I wonder: which was Ruth Frey’s reaction when she received this? I’m going to guess giggling and vomiting simultaneously.
How old do you imagine this contract is, though? How long has she been living with this? Okay, the news reports say she didn’t sign it, and good for her. I think if you can sign something like this with a straight face, there’s something seriously wrong with you. Seriously. No more chuckling, for the moment. Okay, we’ll toss in an exception for the rare deviant couple who embrace the whole alternative lifestyle / BDSM thing; but again, I’m going to question your stability. That’s just me, though. What do I know?
I do know that this sort of thing makes for a cute joke. And I’m not going to say that it wouldn’t be amusing — this is the sort of sick humor that is right up my alley on a bad day. And I’d like to think that my wife and I would laugh about it, maybe over a glass of wine or two. And that she wouldn’t refuse to sleep with me ever again, or Bobbittize me in the middle of the night. And most importantly, that she would throw the damned thing away when the laughter was done, maybe even shredding or burning the evidence so damning of my immature sense of humor.
What? It’s not a joke? Really? No, stop — you mean someone would actually have the nerve to present this to someone with any level of seriousness? You’ve got to be kidding me.
Okay, Frey — that’s pretty fucked up. Not hard to explain, by any stretch of the imagination: low self-esteem, bad communication skills, and some sort of power trip need. But damn, man, the more I hear about you, the more I think maybe you should have counted yourself lucky to have ever gotten married in the first place and left it at that.
And Ruth — woman, what are you thinking? Look, you’ve got kids with him, you’ve been married to him for some time (I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt and pretending that the marriage contract is something that he handed you just recently), but still… There are women reading this ready to kick me in the head just for joking about this being a joke. Surely you can muster a little integrity and pride up for yourself, get a little angry, and tell this guy that he’s on the sofa for life, at best. Yeah?
It scares me to know that people like this — both the crazy domineering type and the kind that need love and companionship so badly that they will put up with behavior like this — are not only out there in the world, but probably in far greater numbers than I’m willing to consider. I know that there are different strokes for different peeps and all that jazz, and I’m okay with that. But damn, folks, really?
I’ve been asked if I can ever imagine myself married again. I’m not stridently opposed to the idea — if it’s important to the woman I’m with, it’s something I’d consider for her. But in general, I’m not a fan of marriage; it’s a social contract, for one thing, that is based largely in religious foundings, not really my cup of tea. But the other thing stems from my romanticism: the idea that every morning, that person lying next to me is still there because she wants to be, because she loves me, is one of my favorite ideas ever. Much better than knowing that they’re staying because someone else expects them to.
Plus, who wants to feel even remotely guilty when you file for divorce because your husband turns out to be some skeezy spineless wormboy?