"Dear future husband / Here's a few things you'll need to know," sings Meghan Trainor at the outset of her hit song, "Dear Future Husband," which—when I first heard that line—made me think, Oh boy I bet this is going to be wack.
"Take me on a date / I deserve it babe," she croons in the first verse. "And don't forget the flowers every anniversary," which, admittedly, isn't all that wack, though mildly unnerving that we're not even married yet and she's already making demands about the type of anniversary gift I must buy.
"You got that 9-to-5 / But baby so do I / So don't be thinking I'll be home and baking apple pies."
Ok, Meghan, I'm with you so far. You're a modern, career woman. I don't expect you to bake or clean for me. We'll just divvy the household chores, split the bills and take turns sleeping on the wet spot. But you lose me on the next line.
"You gotta know how to treat me like a lady / Even when I'm acting crazy."
Whoa, Nelly! I have lived with my fair share of women and know exactly what "acting crazy" means. And believe me, it isn't doing the happy dance every time George Clooney appears on TV. It means she's got flames jutting out of her ears and a line of radioactive snot running from her nose to her knee as she hurls glassware at my easily-shreddable face. Treat you like a lady? At that point I'll be treating you like a rabid Rottweiler and whisper, "Easy, girl," as I slowly back toward the closet to fetch the tranquilizer gun.
"After every fight just apologize / And maybe then I'll let you try and rock my body right."
First of all, no. I will not apologize after every fight. Only the ones in which I did something wrong. Secondly, all I have to do is apologize and "maybe" you'll let me rock your body? Maybe?
Putting aside that you are using sex as ransom, if you threw a goblet at my easily-shreddable face and I said, "I'm sorry that my chin broke your fancy wine glass babe," the least you could've done is guarantee some hot body-rocking later.
"Even if I'm wrong / why disagree? / why-why disagree?"
Why-why disagree? Even when-when you're wrong? Well, I don't know, maybe because, um—you're in the wrong, ya bobble-headed twat! Am I supposed to just sit there like a drudge and say, "Yes dear, the PCH is the fastest route to Los Angeles," and "Yes my love, it is OK to put coffee grounds in the garbage disposal," and "Of course My Sweet Princess of Perpetual Rightness, romantic comedies starring Renee Zellweger are always superior to action/horror flicks featuring Ving Rhames."
She continues by rattling off more demands: "I'll be sleeping on the left side of the bed / Open doors for me . . . / Buy me a ring / Buy-buy me a ring."
I like how Trainor says, "I'll be sleeping on the left side of the bed," as if she's announcing to the butler that she'll be having tea in the drawing room. As for opening your doors, you can't have it both ways m'lady. If you don't want to bake for me, fine. You don't ever have to dote on me in the traditional, June-Cleaver-in-an-apron sense; but then don't make me dote on you in the traditional, Ward-Cleaver walking-around-to-the-other-side-of-the-car-to-open-your-door-because-what?-are-you-an-invalid? sense either. As for buying a ring, I'll tell you what I told Beyoncé when she remarked: "If you liked it then you should have put a ring on it."
I told her, "Girl, if I liked it I woulda put a ring on it."
Look, I know this all sounds as though I am a just another Neanderthal misogynist. I swear I'm not, though. I think of women as my equals. The idea that females are so weak they must be taken care of is demeaning—to both women and men. Because the truth is that I'm weak, too. We're all weak. We need to take care of each other! That's why I wrote my own song. It's called, "Dear Future Ex-Wife."
"Dear Future Ex-Wife / Here's a few things I need to say / Yes, of course I'll take you on date / And maybe once in a while you can even say, 'Thanks?'
You gotta know that to be treated like a lady / You gotta stop acting crazy / As for our anniversary / I'll pick the gifts I give / It's my prerogative.
And after every fight / We'll talk to see who's right / And if you're wrong and can't deny / Here's an idea, how about you fucking apologize.
Dear future ex-wife/ OK, you can have the left side of the bed / If you promise not to punch me in the head / Every time you dream that I am cheating / Don't you know the difference between reality and dreaming?
You gotta know how to treat me like a person / Not just a servant / Take me on a date / take-me-me on a date.
Dear future ex-wife / methinks you got the vapors / I need to hit the Maker's / and drink myself to death / drink-drink myself to death."