Trophy Husbands

Trophy wives are common as dirt and not interesting to write about. I am going to start a new trend: that of collecting trophy husbands. Not even eBay knows about it yet. Personally, I like to keep mine lined up on the mantelpiece, especially right around the Christmas time when they can serve double-duty as Christmas stocking holder.

But I really should write about this new trend in the way of the great columnists of the New York Times. That is the way to become famous. Let's see it it works:


Jolanda Matriarcha, a 26-year old corporate stylist clad in Prada and a vintage bikini, shrugs her golden shoulders when I ask her if keeping trophy husbands ruins the Western Civilization: "Duh. Everybody knows that women have multiple orgasms and need multiple penises. It's in our genes." She gets into her SUV, full of young, handsome men and drives off.

I turn around and think about the research of O. Gasp, a famous evolutionary psychologist who has spent a lifetime on the theory of Multiple Orgasms as the reason why women can't keep their fingers off all those male bodies. Dr. Gasp, well known in the cocktail circuit, tells me this: "Women are gatherers. They gather in multiples: turnips, diamonds, men. Sad, of course, but we must be brave and accept these scientific findings."

Stud Pippins, a 30-year old stockbroker, is working out at Hulks Are Us, a popular mid-Manhattan health club for Trophy Men. His Rolex is steamed over with the testosterone-laden air of the place and Stud's hundredth smooth push-up leaves his torso gleaming. He wipes it dry with a Ralph Lauren teatowel as he muses on his life as the Fourth Trophy of Gloria X: "Gloria is really good to me. I have my own room and I can go out with the guys whenever I want to. And we Trophies have all that male bonding in the house and more time to watch football and drink beer. It's a good life."

What would Stud's father say about his son's life? Would he wonder if he shouldn't have given Stud the book "Every Seventh Night of Your Wife" to his thirteen-year old son? Did he think that the Men's Rights movement of the 1990's would make Stud's life different? Would let him be the Only Husband? Or did he know better than all that?

I shrug my Chanel-covered shoulders as I walk past all the three-million dollar McManors in which male trophy orgies are right now taking place. The rain falls down gently as I ask myself: "What was the point?"