The wife came home from work today in a really foul mood. It was the kind of mood where it seemed like she’d happily slam-punch baby Jesus in the balls, travel back in time to set fire to George Washington and sit a 5-year old down for a reality check about Santa Clause.
She was so angry, in fact, that earlier in the day when I sent her a text raving
about the lunch she’d fixed me (It was seriously great) she chastised me for a slip of the tongue I’d made about her cooking six Thanksgivings ago.
Me: Honey, that lunch was awesome, thank you!
Her: Oh, well shit, I must have gotten better since I fucked up that Thanksgiving dinner in 2006, huh? FUCK YOU very much!
Yeah, it was indisputable — she was in a very bad mood.
Now, for anyone married longer than a week, it’s clear she’s not mad at me. I’m merely a convenient and ever-present whipping boy. Which, OK, I know is part of the husband job.
I thought she would cool off by the time she got home, but I was wrong. From the moment she came through the door, the recitation of my past infractions continued. It was so relentless I was forced to execute the one-and-only surefire method of “unfunkifying” her foul temper — I texted her daughter and asked her to call her mom. That shit works every time. A few minutes on the phone with her kid is better than Prozac, I’ve discovered.
After sending a pleading text to the daughter and getting a reply that she was on board for operation, “Make Mom Nice Again,” I went downstairs for a cigarette and a beer.
And then I had an epiphany. The reason my bride was in a bad mood had to be because she finally concluded I’d been right all along in a decade-old disagreement we had.
You see, like any sane person, I believe the film The Big Lebowski is the greatest movie ever made. She thinks its the theatrical equivalent of a giant pile of wino poop (Although, how she reached that conclusion without watching the whole fucking glorious movie is beyond me)
I always knew that the day she would have to admit I was right, would be a foul one. This must be it.
I surmised that during the course of her day, she realized The Big Lebowski was in fact the best movie ever made, and with that realization came self-loathing because she hadn’t realized it sooner.
Look, I know that’s implausible but it’s not impossible. If I had the misfortune of making that mistake, you bet I would have spent the rest of my day in a funk.
Because, yes, The Big Lebowski is such a great movie, that deriding it for years before realizing what a gift it is to us all would send anyone into a depression.
Did you know a no-shit Zen Master (whatever the fuck that means) co-authored a book about the movie’s main character with the actor who portrayed him (Jeff Bridges) and titled it The Zen Master and the Dude*
No, you didn’t?
Well, you should have. Really, you’re worse than my wife at this stuff,
The movie does some eerie Nostradamus weird September 11, 2001 prediction shit too.
Among its many amazing qualities, The Dude (the movie’s main character) says the word “man” an astonishing 147 times. That’s almost every 1.5 minutes. Even more cool is the f-bomb is dropped nearly 300 times!
If the above facts aren’t enough to convince anyone retarded enough to still be reading this of it’s greatness, The Big Lebowski even has its own Chive thing. Now, I realize that most of us rightfully blame the Chive for that annoying “Keep calm and (blank) on,” meme that has invaded our nation’s T shirt industry, but that aside, they’re a cool website.
I rushed back inside to share with the wife what I’d just realized. I told her it was OK and that she wasn’t perfect, but no one expected her to be. I told her that now that she knew the Big Lebowski was life altering experience, there was still plenty of time to commit the dialogue to memory. I told her how excited I was because now all my “dude” references would be understood and hell, NOW, she’d toss a dude reference at me and we’d laugh and laugh at our wit and life would be magnificent.
She looked at me for a second before her foul mood cracked slightly.
“Are you stupid,” she asked.
Then, on cue, the phone rang. It was her daughter to finish the job. Our one-two punch destroyed that bad mood. We sliced through it like a ninja attacking an enemy made entirely of lemon flavored pudding
The Big Lebowski — saving marriages since 1998.
As an aside, I just took a peek at her in the living room and found her happily watching something called “Queer as Folk,” which if I understand the premise, is about men dancing topless in clubs or something. So yeah, shit’s going okay.
Anyway “The Dude abides man, the dude abides.”
* Yeah I want that shit for Christmas …