So, You Think You’re an Autonomous Individual?

You were once a man. Now you're a fine puree people eat off bagels. 

Lane Cummingsby Lane Cummings

 

Ha. If you’re in a relationship, you’re definitely not. If probability is any factor in this conversation, you’re whipped. Why? Because most men are. Why? Because women like things a certain way and in order to make her happy, you have to do things her way. (Here’s a great example, remember how you used to leave the roll of toilet paper on the tank behind the toilet, instead of just sliding it onto the spindle of the toilet paper roll dispenser? Yeah, well, you don’t do that anymore.)

Let’s play a game. I’m not even going to tell you what the game is called. We’ll just begin.

Slightly Whipped: You both leave the party when she says she wants to go.

Whipped Like Cream Cheese: You don’t go to the party. It’s decoupage night with the girls. You can’t miss that.

Slightly Whipped: You’ve watched a few episodes of Sex and the City with your lady, now and then.

Whipped Like Cream Cheese: You helped her host a Sex and the City Pre-Party the day the last SATC movie came out. You made cosmos. You wore a suit. Girls showed up, dressed like their favorite characters. The called you Mr. Big, giggling. You caught the “joke” but didn’t laugh. You didn’t pick up the pasta strands of your dignity either. You were light-headed from the steelgrip of your girl’s press-on-nails around your balls.

Slightly Whipped: You try not to talk to other women when she’s around. After all, that’s not respectful.  

Whipped Like Cream Cheese: You don’t notice other women, you don’t look at other women, you don’t smell, speak, brush-against-accidentally, or have rand-o awkward conversation with anyone other than her. Because… that’s what she says and you think she’s right. (Or you just want to avoid a fight).

Slightly Whipped: You never host poker night at your place anymore. The cigars are “stinky” and you and your friends just get drunk and make silly bets, what’s the fun in that?

Whipped Like Cream Cheese: You go to poker night, but you don’t gamble. You just come to say hi, stay for a few hands, have a beer (just one) and then return home to watch reruns of some nineties sitcom with the lady, before going to bed at a reasonable hour.

Keep in mind, these were all your decisions. You chose them. Yes, there was a mini gestapo member who wears pink sometimes and sleeps next to you at night and she helped you make them, but all in all, no one had a gun to your head.