The following was posted by someone on Reddit, but the censors there did not like it, therefore I’m posting it here for posterity. It is a good herald of the coming death of feminism/post-modernity. I have made some spelling corrections, but everything else is as it was, with no censorship. I do not like the many swearwords it contains, but it did not feel right to censor them when my purpose for putting it here is to save it from censorship.
The usual answer is “Because I don’t want to get assraped in the inevitable divorce”
But I’m afraid of the bit before that.
I’m afraid that “our ” wedding will be all about you and my role will consist of “Shut up. Pay up. Get yelled at.”
I’m afraid that after you’ve had your dream wedding and you find yourself having to deal with day to day reality, it will end up being my fault that you’re not living happily ever after.
I’m afraid that I will gradually stop being the guy you love and want to spend the rest of your life with and turn into the room-mate you can barely stand but you keep me around for the heavy lifting and helping to pay the rent.
I’m afraid that you will take marriage advice from your mother and her friends, all of whom will tell you that being nice to your husband is fucking stupid and you shouldn’t bother. I’m afraid that you’ll not wonder why your father is so miserable…
I’m afraid that you will “accidentally” slip up on birth control and I’ll end up with children whether I like it or not. ..But when you’re the size of a house and fed up, I’ll be “the bastard that did this to you.”
I’m afraid that the first words my daughter learns will be “Isn’t daddy stupid?”
I’m afraid that you’ll yell at me for not doing enough with the kids – but every time I try, you show up to tell me that I’m doing it wrong and “why are you so useless?”
I’m afraid that once you’ve got the children you wanted, your libido will fall off the edge of a cliff.
I’m afraid that sex will stop being a special moment between us and become something you use to keep me in line, only deployed when I’ve been a good dog.
I’m afraid that “our” home will fill up with your family and your friends, all of whom will treat me like I don’t deserve to be there.
I’m afraid our relationship will consist of me trying to keep you from yelling at me.
I’m afraid that I’ll be continually expected to support you and care for you and prove how committed I am – and in return I’ll get drama, nagging and continual reminders that I’m useless.
I’m afraid that you’ll spend the entire marriage telling me that my opinion is worthless and then bitch when I don’t immediately come up with an answer to whatever drama you’re moaning about.
I’m afraid that any display of insecurity or feeling down will be met with a terse “Oh man up” and subsequently used to beat me over the head for not being a real man.
I’m afraid that every time I’m sick your way of proving how much you care is to make snide comments about man-flu and bitch because I’m lying around doing nothing.
I’m afraid that any time I get time to myself, you’ll be right there with a honey-do list or some little job that needs doing right now, just to make sure I never get chance to relax.
I’m afraid that no matter what I do, there’s always something else that’s making you pissed off.
I’m afraid that I’ll gradually end up losing my hobbies, interests, opinions, friends and as many of my possessions as you can throw away when my back is turned. And you’ll then bitch at me for being “Boring”
I’m afraid that I’ll wake up one day and realize that I’m paying for a house that isn’t my home, full of shit that somebody else wanted, kids that are being raised to treat me with contempt and a life that consists of “work. eat. sleep.” Correction. “Work. Eat. Get moaned at. Sleep.”
And of course there’s always the possibility that after I’ve tried to give you everything you wanted, you’ll decide one day that my services are no longer required and I’ll find myself in a bedsit, piss-poor and wondering what happened to the last ten years of my life.