Dear Country Music Songwriters,
I love my wife. She’s, frankly, an awesome wife. I really can’t imagine how a woman could be more perfect and still exist in this world. What I especially like about her is how much she loves our son and me. It’s amazing that somebody could have that much love in them.
That said, I’m not writing you to make you feel bad about your marriage. Instead, I’m issuing a simple plea:
Please stop making my wife cry.
I really don’t think that’s too much to ask. My wife has no reason to cry, other than her choice of spouse, but that’s not the issue.
The issue is your lyrics.
Your lyrics used to be about that thing (what was it called?) and beer and cheating husbands (or wives) or not shaving legs and stuff like that. Or, to go back even further, it was about fighting and trucking and shooting people just to watch them die. Remember that? I’d say most guys thought that stuff was pretty sweet.
“But,” you’ll say, “that’s the problem. Only men liked country music.” Touche. I understand the need to try to pull more women into the country music market.
But you’ve gone too far.
You see, every few nights, I’ll go into our bathroom where my wife is washing her face or flossing and find her tears mixed in with the peach-scented facial scrub (I have a post waiting for you, Bath & Body Works). Have you ever smelled salty tears mixed with peach-scented facial scrub? It ain’t pretty.
Without wasting a second, I immediately embrace her and offer my shoulder (it’s happened a few times). She puts her feet on mine and we stand there and slowly rock back and forth and she soggifies my shoulder.
Since you’re astute, you’ll know the cause of the tears. The country music station. They’ve played some song you’ve written about a boy who was left on the doorstep of a hooker’s house who ended up being killed in a train wreck but left her boy a Bible from which he preached a sermon about love that caused daddy to spend more time with his kids because one day they’re going to grow up and leave home and have kids of their own that constantly cause messes and pour things out of bottles but that’ll be okay because Mommy and Daddy love one another, even though Mommy’s got cancer and will die soon but that’s okay because at least she’ll have some shoes to wear on Christmas because a stranger cared to enough to pay for most of the shoes for the kid in line, even though the stranger needed the money for child support for the family he lost to his drinking problem, but he’s cleaned up now and wishes he could take it back but he can’t so he’ll spend the rest of his life doing good. Yeah, I made that last part up, so what?
So, please, stop it already. My wife has enough going on that she doesn’t need to cry over the fact that our 9-month-old baby will grow up and leave home in 17 years and 3 months! (to the day…)
Please remember, Country Music Writers, what it’s all about. That thing, you know, with the boots and the blood and the cowboy…stuff…I think it’s called Rodeo. More of that.