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November 11, 2015

To my Partner: It’s Boys’ Night Out—have a Blast.

Flickr/Gemma Amor

Dearest Man of Mine,

I’m going to be honest—I don’t think you gentlemen get enough credit from us. We ladies take pride in being strong and independent, and as a result, simply don’t thank our boyfriends and husbands enough for everything you guys do.

Quite often, I take credit that you rightfully deserve—I admit it.

The thing is, I’m half of a team—the queen to your king. Because I have you in my life, I don’t have to worry quite as much as I did back when I flew solo. You are my protector, my best friend, my entertainer and my lover. Because you’re here, my children have two incredible role models.

You ensure our safety, and you make sure we know we are loved.

I’m not trying to be a nag, but since you’re always watching out for me, I really want to return the favor.

I insist you take some time for yourself tonight—go do what makes you feel good. Grab as many (or as few) friends as you want, and bask in the fact that you guys are all doing—well, whatever it is that guys get a kick out of doing.

Remind one another why you became buddies to begin with. Nobody will be jabbering on about book clubs, IUDs or wine buzzing in the preschool carpool lane. Know why? Because man talk, baby—all night long.

You deserve it—I wonder if you realize just how much. It’s true.

As long as you stay safe, and get home with the help of a friendly neighborhood sober person, please feel free to get hammered and stay out ’til four in the morning—or whenever.

You’ve spent all week working 12-hour shifts and managed to come home every day with enough energy to cut grass, work on the car, play video games with the big one, let the little one “help” you, clean carburetors—and that’s not even mentioning everything you did to make my life easier.

Sweetheart, I’m not about to give you a curfew. I just want you to live it up! In the morning, I hope to hear one of you got kicked out of a bar for doing something hilariously stupid. It makes me smile to imagine you all making enough stops, so that everyone has at least one chance to say, “This is my kind of place.” (24-hour breakfast joints included.)

Look, I am your partner—not your mother or your boss. My job isn’t to make rules for you. I am here to walk beside you, respect your choices and encourage your freedom to be yourself. (Not interfere with it.) We know how it feels when one of your pals can’t hang out, due to his wife’s tendency to run a tight ship, don’t we? That’s not cool, and what’s more, it’s not us. This night is about you and your friends—so do what you will.

I completely trust you. Just enjoy yourself.

If you need help finding the bathroom when you get home, I’m the girl to call. When you wake up at noon tomorrow, there will be a jug of water and some ibuprofen on the nightstand. I can’t promise I won’t poke fun at your hangover-induced crankiness, and you know you’re not getting a kiss until you brush those stinky whiskey teeth. After you have your coffee, though, maybe you can lay your head on me, and tell me the highlights of your adventures. I’d be all about that. You know I love any excuse to curl up with you and hear you laugh.

I love seeing you happy.

So go on, then! Get outta here and go find your buddies. We’ve wasted enough time.

Manhood is calling—have a blast.

.

Relephant:

A Letter to the Man who Set me Free.

.

Author: Angela Timberlake

Editor: Yoli Ramazzina

Photo: Flickr/Gemma Amor 

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