I made the mistake of clicking on this link, GOP congressman’s book: ‘The wife is to voluntarily submit’ to her husband, only because I thought it would be a kinky BDSM sex story. I was disappointed to find that it was just more of the same-old reactionary blather from a Republican Congressman about how his marriage is better than my marriage on account of submission. Or subjugation. Or subshrubs, or something. (Subshrub is actually a word, I’m not making it up. It’s a synonym for bush, which brings me right around the circle back to sex, I think.)
The supposed inspiration for the congressman’s ideas for connubial bliss comes from the book of Ephesians, chapter five, verses 22-24.
22 Wives, submit yourselves to your own husbands as you do to the Lord. 23 For the husband is the head of the wife as Christ is the head of the church, his body, of which he is the Savior. 24 Now as the church submits to Christ, so also wives should submit to their husbands in everything.
I never understood why Christians take certain passages of the Bible literally while other passages are meant metaphorically. How am I supposed to know to submit to my husband in everything, and also know not to gouge out my own eyes when I sin (Mark 9:47)? Long-time (even short-time) readers of this blog know that I enjoy a bit of sinning now and then, and I don’t think my husband is going to be happy being married to a woman with two bloody eye sockets, no matter how much I submit.
It’s all very confusing.
But I want my marriage to be as happy as Congressman Pearce’s, so I’m willing to give this submission thing a go. I went to the store and bought what I needed before approaching my husband with this new idea to improve our marriage.
“What do you think you’re doing with those handcuffs and nipple clips?” he asked me.
I pointed to Congressman Pearce’s book on the coffee table. I know. I know. You thought I already understood that the Congressman didn’t mean that sort of submission, but I was counting on the fact that my husband had not bothered to read the book.
“He doesn’t mean that kind of submission,” my husband said. Drat! He had read the book. “I think he means I’m supposed to command you to make what I want for dinner and stuff like that.”
I threw the handcuffs and nipple clips down in disgust. “Forget about it! We’re not eating bacon cheeseburgers and malted milk balls for dinner every night!”
My husband moved closer to me. “What about doing that thing with your tongue that I like?”
“I save that for your birthday.”
My husband thought hard about how else he could get me to submit. Finally, something occurred to him. “How about you let me watch that public television special on model trains?”
“All right. But not on the big TV. You can watch on the little one, upstairs in the attic, by yourself.”
My husband smiled and nodded and then climbed the three flights of stairs to our musty attic where he watched his television program alone.
Maybe this submission thing really is good for your marriage.
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