Can this man be saved?

Can this man be saved?

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For a long time now, I've been thinking I've got a split personality.

Because there's, like, two sides of me.

Because there's, like, two sides of me.

On the one hand, I'm this sweet, devoted, caring husband. I tell my wife how much I love her. I tell her how beautiful she is. I tell her how no one pours a bowl of Rice Krispies quite the way she does.

I carry her picture in my wallet. I always compliment her hair, her nails, her smile. And before I leave the house for work in the morning, I always tell her how much I'll miss her. And how I can't wait to see her when I get home. 

And the thing is, I sincerely mean it. I swear to God I do.

When I tell you she's the prettiest, sweetest wife a guy could have, she really is the prettiest, sweetest wife a guy could have. I'm very, very lucky.

On the other hand, every morning as I get in my car, I wave goodbye to my darling wife, and as I back out of the driveway, I look in the rearview mirror and think, "Please Dear God, please let me see some hot chicks today."

"I don't care where or when God," I continue. "They could be in the car next to me, or they could be standing on a street corner, or they could be working at my office. Best of all, God, when I'm walking into my building today, please let there be a hot chick right in front of me so I can maybe stare at her ass. And if you really want to be nice to me, God, it would be, like, super-great if she bent over right in front of me. Not that I'd do anything about it other than think about it every second of every day for the rest of my life spent on this glorious and bountiful earth you've so graciously created for us."

"At any rate, God, I think I've been pretty nice and respectful to you recently. Last week for example, I only said 'Goddamn It' like 10 or 53 times. So all I'm asking, God, is to take that into consideration too. And please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, pretty please let me see some hot chicks today."

Then -- like always -- I wave and beep my horn one last time as if to say, "Bye, honey. I love you. Have a great day."

And then -- like always -- with my house in my rearview mirror, I say to myself, "Please God, let me have a great day, too. Please let me see a couple of bimbos, God. Or allow me by your goodness to stumble into a high school cheerleading competition or something."

"In advance, God, thanks."

Why is this? Why do I do this?

How can I be a happy-go-lucky father of two, a loving husband and devoted family man, and then seconds later I turn into a ravenous skirt-chasing predator, hell-bent on finding jeans that are a little too tight, shirts that are a little too snug and stilletos that are a little too…well, actually, stilletos are fine just the way they are.

The truth is, when I'm around my wife, I give her all the attention in the world.

When I'm not around my wife, I forget that I even have a wife.

When I'm around my wife I think, "Y'know, I love this woman."

When I'm not around my wife I think, "Hey, that chick standing over there isn't wearing a bra. Y'know, I love that woman."

When I'm around my wife I think, "She's one really special lady."

When I'm not around my wife I think, "Hey, you in the sundress. A crotch shot would be really special, lady."

Do other men act like this?

I mean, no matter where I go in my day, all I can think is: will I see any hot chicks?

For example, I could've had sex, like, five minutes before I walk into to the grocery store. But as soon as I walk in, I'm thinking, "Man, I hope the cashier is hot."

Is this normal behavior for a middle-aged man? 

I think I've got issues. 

And since I'm pretty sure this probably wouldn't be a good topic to discuss with my wife, I decided to take some time last week to talk to some guy friends to see if they could help me with my problem. 

Because I figure, hey, if anyone could help to resolve this issue, it would be another guy.

Guys are good at solving guy problems, right? Guys know just the right thing to say to another guy. Guys have the insight and can offer the perfect advice to help another guy solve any type of guy problem.

Unless the problem is erectile dysfunction. That's not a problem I'm talking to a guy about.

Dear Alan.

So I met my friend Alan for lunch in the food court of a shopping mall. 

We sat down and I immediately began spilling my guts.

"I think I've got this problem," I said. "I mean, I love my wife. Yet as soon as I walk away from her, all I want to do is look at other women. I just feel like I'm being a hypocrite to my whole…."

"Omigod," he said. 

This is fantastic, I thought. Alan completely understands where I'm coming from. And since he's married too, he must feel the same way. 

I was excited and hopeful that this was going to be a moment when two men can truly relate to each other at a place far deeper and more sincere than guys are accustomed to.

"So then you know what I'm talking about?" I said. 

"Omigod," he said again. "Did you see the rack on that chick? Those tits were unbelievable."

Of course I didn't see them. Only because I was in the middle of a life-defining moment.

"No I didn't see her rack," I said. "Because I was in the middle of a life-defining moment. At any rate, what I was trying to say was that I feel like I'm two-faced and…."

"Hot blond in super tight jeans over your left shoulder," said Alan. "Check it out."

"Listen, I've seen a lot of good-looking women in my life," I said. "This is about something else. You know what I'm talking about. You're married. I just think that…."

"Who's your daddy, little lady in the plaid skirt," he said. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. Have you been a naughty girl? I think you need to sit on daddy's lap and tell me all the bad things you've done today, you wicked bad little girl."

"Hey, I really need to talk to you," I pleaded.

"Sorry man," he said. "I'm all yours. Tell me your problem."

"Well I just think…."

"God I love spring," he said. "All the long coats and sweaters get tucked away until fall. Will you look at her friggin' ass. Jesus Christ."

At this point, I gave up thinking that Alan would help me solve my problem. So I did the only thing I could do. 

I looked at her friggin' ass.

Jesus Christ.

Dear Brent.

So I called my married friend Brent. 

I thought, if anyone could help, Brent could help. Brent's been married a long time. I'm sure Brent could offer some sound advice.

"Hello?" he said answering the phone.

"Hey, it's me," I said. "I think I need your advice about something."

"Shoot," he said.

"I think I've got a problem," I stammered. " You know, I love my wife. Just like you love yours. But I just feel like as soon as I walk away from her I…."

"What are you wearing?" he said.

"Excuse me?" I asked.

"Sorry, man, I wasn't talking to you," he said. "I'm in this chat room and I'm instant messaging with a Nebraska cheerleader."

"How do you know she's really a Nebraska cheerleader?" I asked.

"I don't care if she is or she isn't," he said. "She's answering my questions, so in my mind she's a Nebraska cheerleader. Besides, as far as she's concerned, I look exactly like Pierce Brosnan."

"Right," I said. "So uh, anyway, the thing of it is, I just don't know why I…."

"Eleven inches. What's your bra size?" he said. "Keep going with your question, pal. I'm listening."

"OK," I said. "I just don't understand why I can't stay focused…."

"In a crowded elevator once. You?"

"Like I was saying, I just don't understand why…."

"Yes, Mistress Stacy."

"Um, Brent?"

"Take it all, my queen. I beg you to take it all."

"Uh, y'know, I think I've gotta go, Brent. I'll talk to you later, Okay?"

Brent said, "Please allow me to lick your boots to demonstrate my pathetic and worthless existence."

The whole thing was weird to me.

I had no idea Pierce Brosnan was into that sort of stuff.

Dear Tom.

A friend named Tom recently quit to move on to another company. As we chatted about our time together and his future job, I thought he might be the perfect guy to help me with my issue.

"Hey Tom," I said, "can I ask you a question?"

"Go for it," he said. 

"So I know you're a happily married guy," I said. "You're family man, just like me. Do you, uh, think about other women a lot when you're not around your wife and kids?"

"This is the way I feel, Lane," Tom said, assuming the crossed-leg-I'm-about-to-lecture-you position. "My wife is great-looking. My kids are the love of my life. And I would never do anything to jeopardize my relationship with my family.

"Having said that," he continued, "of course it wouldn't be normal not to have occasional feelings or thoughts about someone else. But I know deep in my heart that I have found my sole mate for all eternity and nothing could be better than that."

Wow, I thought. He's so right. He's dead nuts on right. That's the perfect thing to say.

And as he got up to leave, I shook his hand to wish him well with the new job and to thank him for the good advice.

"No problem," he said. "Glad I could help. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go say goodbye to Stacy in accounting. With any luck, that hot piece of ass will give me a kiss goodbye. Later!"

As Tom walked out, I thought, "Y'know, I do have a disorder."

It's called "Being Married For A Long Time."

The thing is, all of us married guys are the same. We want something. We get it. And then once we've got it, we want something else.

Of course, we know that we're never really going to get it, so we think we want it when in reality all we're going to do is look at it and act like we could get it even though we couldn't. Which makes us want to look at it and think about it even more, right?

How could I not have seen this before?

I've got a great woman sitting right at home. Why am I wasting my time looking around in Fantasyland when I've got the real thing staring me right in the face?

My wife is fantastic. And she means so much to me. What was I thinking?

Suddenly, I felt like a changed man. My life was refocused. The ship had been righted.

As I drove home from work that night, I thought about how much I loved my wife.

I thought about how I couldn't wait to hug my darling.

And I thought about how fortunate I was to have such a spectacular woman by my side.

Then I saw a Volkswagen Passat in front of me and I thought, "Hey, a Passat. That's a hot chick car. I bet there's a hot chick driving that car."

At which point I stopped thinking about my wife, I put on my left turn signal and I stepped on the accelerator.

Hey, you can only change so much in one day, y'know? 

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