Are You Your Wife's Dog?

After I saw that Iggy Pop concert online a week ago, his song "I Wanna Be Your Dog" kept playing in my head. (Granted, the song is, apparently, not about a dog, but it's a catchy tune nonetheless).

The song reminded me of something else. Something much more serious.

My friend and I were at a big house party circa 1995. He had earlier had an argument with his wife (over some stupid thing, of course). She was, frankly, a bitch. At one point at the party, she approached him and slapped him very hard across his face -- so hard that his eyeglasses went flying 10 feet and his lip was bleeding (had my wife done that to me, in public, she'd be missing some teeth, female-or-not, I don't care). His response to that slap? Nothing. He did nothing. He didn't even call her a "bitch." He just walked over, picked up his glasses, and said nothing. In fact, in all 3 of his marriages (that one and 2 more later), he was "the dog" and wifey was "the master."

Here's the key part: about 90% of the men I've known over the years were "the dog." Even my grandfather, who was no wimp by any means, was "the dog" most of the time. My uncle? Same thing, and he told me he liked it that way! "It's easier for me" he said. "Less work for me."

But yet, when there's a loud "bump" in your house at 3:00AM, guess who must get out of bed to go investigate the noise?? Right! You, every single time! Some "divisions of labor" have never changed since the caveman days despite decades of recent Jewish feminism ("Second-Wave" feminism). Wonder why not? How come wifey never investigates a noise at 3:00AM?

Are you "the dog," White man? Maybe you should check that.

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