She Said: A couple of poncey Brits tied the knot today, but I bet they’re pretty embarrassed their little ceremony will be totally overshadowed by our 5th anniversary.
He Said: Five years, baby! Granted, we didn’t get married in a building so big, you could fit trees INSIDE OF IT like they did, but it was still awesome. There’s a few things we wish we knew back then that are all too clear today. Since we’re feeling generous, we thought we’d share some tips with that couple across the pond.
He Said: William, your wife is going to have a pair of pants, probably sweats, that you will hate. They will look like she stole them off a drunk homeless man who, when he awoke, wasn’t too upset to find them missing. They might have “MAUI” (or maybe “SALISBURY”) written across the bum and their color will no longer be recognizable. You wanna say beige, but you have a feeling that once, long, long ago, they were blue. You’ll be shocked at how quickly she whips those sweats of sadness on, probably with a T-shirt that’s even uglier. Accept this. My only suggestion to get rid of them, and this is untried, is to act like you’re so full of desire for her, you must literally rip the pants off her. Be an animal. See if you can tear those suckers into shreds. If this somehow works, never, ever mention it. And don’t buy replacements.
She Said: What does Will watch - cricket, polo, hound-on-hound dog fights? Whatever it is, just know that he will scream at the TV like a walrus getting an enema. He’ll claim this means he’s enjoying it, though every gesture and noise will contradict this notion. Your only consolation - and it’s not a guarantee - is that these are not the same sounds he makes during sex. If they are, at least have the TV on in the background so you can justify it to yourself.
SEX, Part 1
He Said: Making out. I don’t know where and why my wife got the idea that making out was sexy, but I hate it. ”Do you wanna make out?” she’ll ask and grin like a happy little chimp. No. I do not. I’m a grown-ass man. I didn’t even like making out in high school, but at the time, it seemed like it was all the action I was going to get, so I accepted it. It’s a bogus, made up thing that goes nowhere. Next time Kate suggests it, agree, then drop her off at her parents’ place afterward. If she’s gonna act like she’s in high school, then you may as well treat her like she is.
SEX, Part 2
She Said: Remember when you wanted sex even more than he did? Maybe you still do… just not every night. You’re a Duchess now. So put aside those hobo sweats and think about how much both of you get out of a simple gesture (done quickly, with soft, firm hands). It’s amazing how HJs, BJs and even a lazy flash of skin can smooth things over. If it helps, come up with some royal name for it. Call it “polishing the scepter” or “going dutch.” And, be honest, it gets you stuff. I once got three David Sedaris books and a Sephora gift card for spending the morning in my underwear. I bet if you teabagged the royal balls, you could get tiaras and better looking boyfriends.
He Said: Kate, you are going to inherit his family, and holy blue blood, you got in-laws like nobody else. Mine get worried when I have a second beer at dinner; yours can have you beheaded if you don’t produce a son your first try. Now I love my in-laws and they love me, but they’re still the parents of the girl I’m currently fucking. Also, they don’t always get my sense of humor. One night we were all out for dinner and I made a joke which was greeted with crickets riding on tumbleweeds. My wife said, “Mom, that was a joke!” ”I know, I just didn’t find it funny.” I’ve bombed as a stand-up before - the only difference is, I didn’t have to drive with the audience on the way home from the show. My advice? Find a couple things you can talk about. My father-in-law is oddly fascinated by the price of gas so I always know what it is or has been, give or take a couple months. Also, golf. Suggest you watch a game together - that’s seven hours you don’t have to talk.
She Said: Hope that helps! At least you have tax payers footing the bill for the big day. If the marriage implodes, blame Elton John.