The Truth About Cuddlers

by Antonios Maltezos

We’re horrible monsters. We love cuddling with our wives, but we don’t let them know it. And we never can, either, because everyone knows a real man doesn’t cuddle. He stretches his arm out across his wife’s pillow, and she snuggles in under his armpit, barely breathing, until he starts twitching, saying things like, oomph, you’re cutting off my circulation, babe.

Horrible, horrible, creatures, we are.

And crafty, but only after it’s too late and our backs are to the wall.

“Where’s my box of candies?”

You try getting mad, at first, raising your voice, seeing if that works, but she doesn’t cower, and you soon realize you have to tone it down, or shut up completely, look at your feet, wait, and then check if it’s okay to pucker up. No? You have to beat yourself about the head, then, because you can’t do anything right. “Why am I such a screw-up?” You look down again, for the last time this day, hopefully, or for however long it will take for the dark clouds to pass and she calls you an idiot, which would be some good news, finally, because you play the idiot well.

We’re terrible, even if we’re all cuddlers at heart. Besides, the way we cuddle involves getting a good grip on your wife’s bum cheek, or copping a feel off her breast, as if by mistake. You were only adjusting, getting comfy, almost cuddling. You feel like a weasel, but so what. It’s only natural. You shouldn’t have to ask, or say s’cuse me if it was by accident.

But they do treat us poorly. It isn’t always us. Sometimes, a man just wants his wife in the room when he’s watching TV. It makes him feel good knowing someone will be watching him watching TV, taking mental snapshots of him living, proof of his existence, his witness -- the wife. This is a picture of your dead father watching TV on that day. Except, they seldom take pictures. Instead, they talk about things not-at-all related to the programming.

And she’ll never let you win an argument, and you’ll always believe she’s angry, so you’ll pretend when in bed, that you didn’t know her boob was there. You’ll say s’cuse me this time, because it should have been obvious your angry wife didn’t want your b.o. on her side of the bed. She won’t scold, but she won’t acknowledge you, either, not until you say you want to almost cuddle and grab a good handful of the closest bum cheek.

Terrible, I know.