Beta Move: Wash Her Face

Mrs. Ironwood likes cosmetics and makeup the way that I like cooking and food.

She's not vain, not at all.  And she's not hopelessly insecure (not any more than any other woman, and better than the vast majority -- when your husband is constantly trying to have sex with you, it's kinda hard to feel unattractive), she just likes putting on and wearing makeup. She understands the powerful importance of presentation in the professional world, especially in terms of positioning in the Female Social Matrix, and she considers it a kind of artistic expression as well.  She's gotten good at it by necessity, and even did a brief pre-career stint as a retail cosmetics manager in a mall store.  She's intrigued by the science behind the glamour as well.

She spends a fair amount on cosmetics.  But then she's a professional woman who meets with clients and colleagues and the general public, and she wants to make a good professional presentation.  Makeup and wardrobe and nails are part of the job.  Having worked in offices for decades, I can appreciate just how much a woman's success or failure in an endeavor can depend upon her self confidence . . . and if she feels that she has to spackle on the self-confidence every morning, then I'm not one to argue.

It makes her happy and feel better about herself, it amuses me and the kids to watch her make faces in the mirror, and it's something that's uniquely feminine, like me tending to my facial hair is uniquely masculine.  I admit I indulge her when there's a sale on something she likes, and she cooperates by limiting her purchases within a self-imposed budget and working the free samples shamelessly.

All that being said, at the end of the day -- and they all seem like long, hard, stressful days, recently -- when she's dragging home late after yet-another meeting, after eating dinner, kissing the kids goodnight and reviewing their homework, collapsing into bed exhausted and passing out without another thought is one of her favorite things to do.  Sometimes she barely has the strength or initiative to get undressed (I'm happy to help her with that), much less do the full de-bureaucratiization process.  If that means sleeping in makeup and smearing her pillow (and sometimes mine) with makeup, well, I'm not that picky.  I usually follow the Guy Rule when it comes to clothing and such ("If it doesn't have Shit, Blood Or Puke on it, It Ain't That Bad") and a little mascara smear never bothers me.

But last night, for no particular reason, when she finally stumbled in after her meeting and it was time for night-night, I noted that she was in no mood to de-spackle her face.  She doesn't like sleeping in makeup (she says it reminds her of the Walk of Shame in the morning) but once she's down, she's down.  So I grabbed a couple of makeup removing wipes and washed her face -- or at least got the lion's share of the goop off of it so she wouldn't look like Tammy Faye Baker in the morning.  I mean, it wouldn't kill my morning wood or anything (and if you know of something that can, Mrs. Ironwood would dearly like to know) but it's not the best look to wake up to.

The experience of washing her face turned into something more, however.  The kinesthetic sense of my fingers on her face, gently rubbing away the makeup, grime, sweat, and cares of the day, felt wonderful to her.  I explored every square millimeter of he face as I wiped the gunk off, and whispered soothing things to her while she just laid there and made sex noises.  I had to be careful, of course, and ended up going back for a third wipe (she loves makeup, in case I hadn't mentioned that) but at the end of the experience she looked up with a beatific expression that put a warm glow in my heart and a tent pole in my pants.

"I feel so loved and taken care of," she said with a sigh.  "That's the nicest thing that's happened to me all day.  Can you do that again tomorrow?"

I shrugged.  "Baby, whatever kinda foreplay you want!"

She giggled.  "Actually, as nurturing and caring as that felt, it was also pretty dominant.  All I could do was lay there and let it happen to me.   That was very sweet, Ian, thoughtful and considerate.  I felt like a kitten being licked by an attentive parent."  

"I'm suddenly not feeling particularly parental," I noted.  The face washing had definitely been erotic, and gosh, that's hard for a dude to hide even when he wants to.  I had no such inclination.  Hilarity ensued.

So wash her face.  It's a deeply intimate, yet utterly utilitarian way to bond with your girl over something girly.   And it would be a shame to let a freshly-scrubbed face go unkissed . . .

Beta Move: Play Nurse

One of the implicit aspects of marriage that men all too often gloss over is the whole "in sickness" part.  But when your wife has a lousy cold, then think of it as an opportunity to do some Beta DHVs (yes, there are such things).

Here's a couple of tips:

1) Ensure she has the right medications for her symptoms.  If that means you have to learn the difference between a decongestant and an anti-imflamitory, then so be it.

2) The softest, cushiest tissues money can buy.

3) Spring for the expensive cough drops.  She's worth it.

4. Juice.  Go ahead and get a lot.  It's going to be a bumpy ride.

5. Soup.  Homemade if you can, Campbell's if you can't.  Put it on a tray and bring it to her in bed.

6. Sleep.  Ensure she gets as much as she needs to recuperate.  She will appreciate you MUCH MORE if you handle every possible detail, and her symptoms as well.

7. Entertainment.  Go ahead and grab some mags and some DVDs.  It will help keep her from getting testy and bored.

8. Attitude.  Be cheerful.  The last thing she wants is to feel like she's being a burden.  When you start to think she's milking it, start easing her back into the realm of the living.

9. Doctor.  If she needs it, make her go.  Drive her if you must.  And don't complain about the expense -- that's a DLV.

10. DON'T use it as an opportunity for seduction.  Unless she's into that sort of thing.

Often we avoid our wives like the plague when they're sick -- but this is just an opportunity for resentment to set in if you do not care for her properly.  What you DON'T want to do is have her use it to have endless relationship discussions out of boredom.  Take care of her . . . but take care of your business, too.

Beta Move: The Five Year Rule

Mrs. Ironwood and I have a very important ritual we've evolved over the years, dating from our first big "it's been five years, are we gonna get married or what?" discussion.  As it has evolved it has been an important tool to provide much-needed perspective about the state of the marriage.

Very simply, you ask yourselves -- and each other -- how your lives now compare to how they were five years ago.  For instance, five years after we met Mrs. Ironwood and I both had relatively stable jobs, a decent roof over our heads, health insurance, cordial relationships with each others' parents, and an assload more security in ourselves and each other than we did when we met.  Just on paper that was big.  We had to agree that both of our lives were measurably better then than they were five years before.  All of the ups and down of our initial courtship and commitment, moving in together, surviving my younger brother move in with us, the requisite family and friend drama, all of it was utterly bearable, and we were better people and happier people for being together. We both wanted kids and thought we'd be good parents.  So the next logical step was to get married.  I'd more or less already decided that, but it was nice to hear she was open to the possibility.  I told her point-blank I would only ask her once, and made it clear I was serious.  And then I thought about it furiously for another six months before I asked her.

But since that time we've been able to pull out the Five Year Rule when either one of us has felt depressed or overwhelmed by life.  It provides an important gut-check for the marriage and gives us a clear, mutually-understandable benchmark.  Of such rituals are good marriages made.

It's essentially a Beta Move, in a very good way.  By invoking the Five Year Rule you are providing context and comfort for your wife/girlfriend.  You are demonstrating that you are aware of the development of the relationship in context, and that you appreciate the growth you've both demonstrated.  It's non-threatening and supportive.  It's emotionally uplifting.  It's easier than mowing the lawn.  By seeing things in a five-year context we understand that whatever issues we face today are part of a larger continuum of our existence together.  And we re-iterate that we plan on being here in five more years, and will look back at these low points as the places where we figured it out or soldiered on or did whatever it was we did that got us through it.  It helps, it really does.

So much of Single Game is about seduction and pursuit that it's easy to loose sight of the nuances of Married Game.  Being able to provide good Beta when necessary is always helpful, and the romantic, nostalgic overtones of the Five Year Rule gives you a big juicy shot of Beta almost instantly.  It's also backhanded Alpha, if you insist strongly enough that she appreciate the Five Year Rule (attempting to blow off an important ritual can be a Fitness Test in a stressful situation).  Sometimes when a woman is freaking out about something, being able to provide some strong, steady perspective is what she wants from you more than a sympathetic ear or a hot beverage.

Of course the danger is that things may have actually gotten worse in five years.  If that's the case, then you should count that as valuable information as well.

At that first discussion