From the original article on November 6, 2007. Author: Chateau Heartiste.
I have this old friend who used to be a guy’s guy. Loved guy stuff , did guy things, and nurtured fierce loyalty to his guy clan of close buddies. He was a ferocious looking beast with a barrel chest as deep as it was wide who could hip check and shoulder blast his way through any club crowd to get to the bar or a girl he wanted to meet. His bumpngrinding was legendary. As was his profuse sweating, which beaded up in great rivulets on his expansive simian brow as he danced under the hot club lights, stopping only to dab at the torrent of perspiration with fistfuls of cocktail napkins. He was a magnificent distillation of pure testosterone.
We called him Silverback.
Then he met a girl, and suddenly Saturday afternoons were dedicated to throw pillow shopping.
Then he moved in with this girl, and his high-flying nightlife rompnstomping days were over.
Then he married this girl, and he dove headfirst into climbing the corporate ladder knowing one day he’d have to support a family in that perfect city for raising kids... Manhattan.
Now we hardly ever hear from him except for those times when his beloved is busy doing her own thing and he has a minute to spare in between catering to her needs. This usually amounts to a 1.5 minute interim phone call from a park bench while he’s waiting to pick up his wife from her vegetarian yoga class. Or, even better, a 30 second shout out from inside a cab when it is obvious from the background sound of his wife sitting next to him talking to someone else on her phone that he has been granted a brief window of opportunity to call a buddy. The phone call invariably ends as soon as his wife’s call is over.
Me: So how much time you got left to talk?
Silverback: Come on, man, you know I can talk as long as I like.
Me: She’s still on the line, then?
Silverback: She does her own thing, I do mine.
Me: OK, so how’s the new job going?
Silverback’s Wife: Hey, honey, that was XXX. Who’re you talking to?
Silverback: Gotta go, bro. *CLICK*
Now his wife is pretty, and young, and headstrong, and probably out of his league, so it’s understandable that he’d bend a little to accommodate her lifestyle.
But to go from Silverback to this?
take me boutique shopping!
The crack of that whip echoed through the hills and valleys of the Kingdom of Manhood.
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