Loved this spoof on Desperate housewives – if the roles were switched and the show was deperate husbands.
I quite enjoy desperate housewives, but I thought this article added an interesting perspective.
For desperate husbands, heaven is a housemaid and fantastic plastic:
By Richard Glover
February 12, 2005
For us guys, it’s great to have a new drama show to hook into – one that’s really about our lives. This time around it’s the new hit series Desperate Husbands.
It has been on for only two weeks, but already you hear of groups of guys getting together – maybe one brings the beers, another the nachos – and settling down to watch.
There’s been so much TV for women recently – Sex and the City, Footballers’ Wives – we guys are hungry for the chance to get together, relax, and reserve a little time for ourselves, and for our friendship.
Desperate Husbands gives us that chance.
All of us have our favourite characters, of course. For me its Bryn, the super-husband, whose hair is always perfect, whose lawn is always mowed, and whose edges are always perfectly trimmed. He’s got the perfect body, pulls a good salary, and can turn out a plate of fluffy muffins. Yet his wife doesn’t appreciate him. I guess I see something of myself in his situation.
Other guys in our group connect with different characters. They come around on Monday night to sit and watch, to laugh and cry. ‘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 – balance the job, balance the kids, balance the pool chemicals. Finally you snap. Before you realise it, there’s 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 18-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 with our desperate husband – having glorious sex 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, just to convince his wife that the housemaid had done some real work.
‘Been there, done that,’ we all shouted as we watched, woofing down the nachos – even though the truth is we wouldn’t dare. All of us know too well the dangers 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 chauffer service, the emasculated deference to the boss at work? Could there be a 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 how 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 I now go a whole minute without thinking about it once.’
The rest of us nod supportively, trying not to let the shock show on our faces. A whole minute. 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 is 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 at yoga, so he doesn’t do in his back. 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.