Brainless women are a waste of a good butt

I have been spending way too much time with married men, those modern philosophers of our age. In their defense, I am great company. Also, my bachelorhood makes them simultaneously nostalgic and angry, which makes them excellent drinking buddies. In return for providing them with a space where they can walk without impaling their feet on toys, where there are no suspicious stains on the couch, and where Disney Junior is not playing on an infinite loop in the background, the married man imparts morsels of wisdom to me by way of warnings and advisories.

I received one such kernel of wisdom the other day. I was visited by a former friend, current full-time husband, and- by default- philosopher. He had just staged a jailbreak from his house, on account of it being turned into a frosty dungeon of unspoken aggression by the woman he once claimed to love.