I happen to have a good marriage.  Even after almost 20 years together, my wife and I still like each other despite our almost total lack of shared interests.
     That's not to say things are perfect.  Sometimes she's gone when I'm in the mood to con her into doing something for me which I really ought to be doing for myself.  
     Other times I think of a new excuse for my behavior and she's simply too busy to hear it. 
     And then there are those moments when a small part of me yearns for a more traditional marriage full of the sort of stress and angst that can make beer taste better than it really does.
     That's when I punch in the number for "Dial-A-Wife."

     "Dial-A-Wife" is a 1-900 service that costs just $1.99 a minute plus half of all you own if your tele-wife catches you having a little conversation on the side before officially ending your call.  In exchange for this modest cost "Dial-A-Wife" promises to give you all the joys of a traditional female spouse short of clogging your sink with hair and embarrassing you in front of your friends.  If you happen to have a speaker phone and know how to use it right, both of these joys can be yours, too.
     Today I was especially weak.  As soon as my wife slipped out for lunch with a friend, my sweaty fingers went to work.

     Hi, I began, witty as always in the face of the sort of thing which drove our grandfathers into an early grave.
     "Why didn't you call hours ago?" my tele-wife launched into me without preamble.
     I was busy, I lamely tried to explain.
     "Busy?!  I'll tell you about busy!"
     Ten minutes later, as my one and only phone partner paused to take a breath, I took the opportunity to tell her how much I've missed her.
     "Just a second - there's someone at the door," she told me, then kept me hanging while I heard her bitching about the smallness of my voice to the tele-wife in the seat next to hers.  
     "Wrong number," she finally informed me.
     At the door? I wondered aloud.
     "You calling me a liar?!" she wailed.  "And after I've given you the best years of my ear!  Oh, my poor, poor ear - it hurts so bad.  It's a crime what you men do to us women's hearing apparatus!  And then, when you're done, you have the gall to go out and try to sweet talk your way into a younger, fresher auditory canal!  Well let me tell you, Mister, that if I EVER catch you so much as whispering to another woman it's not gonna be the cat that's got your tongue - got it?!"
     It got pretty explicit after that.  I'm sure you can imagine the sordid details: Old imagined hurts rehashed until her gums were rubbed raw; frustrations vented until she was left gasping for air; the expert delivery of a long, tedious list of demands to take out the trash, comb my hair, get rid of my favorite clothes, and mow the lawn.  On and on and on until she climaxed with an attack on my work, my family, and my entire gender. 
     More than satisfied, I ended my call before she could start comparing me unfavorably to all to her previous callers. 
     I'll call back when I can, I assured her.
     "Lucky me!" she cackled, obviously high off fingernail polish as she almost choked on a bon-bon.
     Bye-bye....
     "Yeah, bye-bye, Sam.  Dan.  Whatever.  Just keep those payments coming."

     Maybe someday I'll be mature enough to know how good I have it without having to resort to "Dial-A-Wife."  Perhaps sometime in the new millennium I won't have to pay strange women to engage in phone bickering in order to feel like a real lucky man.
     All I know for now is that I'm doing the best I can.
     And the very best I can do next  is call "Dial-A-Puss" while sweet Jester is taking a nap. 
     I know I should just be content to look at his sleeping form and smile, but I need to hear those drapes being ripped to shreds in order to feel fully fortunate - oh, I need to hear it soooo bad!!