MRAs on love and marriage: “There is nothing wrong with wanting something beautiful that puts out.”

I just imagined giving birth to an adult. Thanks for that mental image. I may uncross my legs again sometime next month.

@CassandraSays

Perhaps a particularly small adult?

t only proves that MGTOW is the only sane and sensible thing for any man with any self-love and self-respect to do

So GYOW and STFU already.

I have migraines rather like that …

Our wedding was performed on a farm by a nice secular lady who wrote the ceremony with/for us. The vows were as follows:

Are you ready to exchange your vows, to give each other the far-flung earth and the whole sky?

Will you support, respect, adore, defend, and communicate honestly with each other?

Will you promise that, when the hard moments come, you will set aside ego and will and the
desire to be right, and take the adult path of turning back towards one another other?

Will you promise to remember that without love you’re just, in the words of Hawkeye, “eighty-
nine cents worth of chemicals walking around lonely?”

After we agreed to each challenge, the actual words we repeated when messing around putting rings on each other were:

I love you because you
Are helping me to make
Of the lumber of my life
Not a tavern
But a temple.
Out of the works
Of my every day
Not a reproach
But a song.
I love you
Because you have done
More than any creed
Could have done
To make me good.
And more than any fate
Could have done
To make me happy.

There’s not much there about gods or monogamy or chastity belts or so on. I mean, a promise to communicate and a weird little digression into carpentry, but that’s optional. Come to think of it, I think the whole wedding whatnot is pretty much optional.

Our officiant gave us a fancy ceremony but also performed official legal ceremonies consisting of “Wanna get married? And you too? Well done. You are now (insert gender identity) and (insert gender identity).”

Manboobz Blockquote Initiation complete!

Those are beautiful vows.

I’m rather curious* as to why words for children born outside of marriage would have existed if nobody was having sex outside of marriage.

* Not really, I just wanted to point and laugh.

I think their complaint is basically that unwed mothers are no longer sent to homes to have their babies in secrecy and shame. Not so much that they aren’t aware that sex outside of marriage always existed (trying to be nice here and assuming that nobody is that stupid), but that they resent the fact that it’s now socially acceptable for women to do it.

I think their complaint is basically that unwed mothers are no longer sent to homes to have their babies in secrecy and shame. Not so much that they aren’t aware that sex outside of marriage always existed (trying to be nice here and assuming that nobody is that stupid), but that they resent the fact that it’s now socially acceptable for women to do it.

You’re exactly right. When they yearn for the “good old days” they are explicitly yearning for a time when female sexuality is shameful, secret, and harshly punished.

Count me as someone deeply squicked by the idea of publicly announcing those kinds of intimate/strong feelings. I don’t mind going to weddings if people I really like, but the idea of being that in love and talking about it in front of a room full of people gives me the heebie jeebies.

“Man was not born to be cuckolded!”

Just a note from the kinkosphere, some men (and women and other adult people) love that shit! 🙂

I’m probably late to the discussion here, but The Husband and I got married in a 100%-mentions-of-God-free ceremony to which a total of seven people were invited.

We got married in part for the health insurance, tax, and estate benefits, but those were maybe 10 percent of the reason. If civil marriage and all its benefits were abolished, we would still have had some kind of personal-commitment ceremony, for reasons best summed up in this passage from Toni Morrison’s Jazz (also read at our wedding):

It’s nice when grown people whisper to each other under the covers. Their ecstasy is more leaf-sigh than bray and the body is the vehicle, not the point. They reach, grown people, for something beyond, way beyond and way, way down underneath tissue. They are remembering while they whisper the carnival dolls they won and the Baltimore boats they never sailed on. The pears they let hang on the limb because if they plucked them, they would be gone from there and who else would see that ripeness if they took it away for themselves? How could anybody passing by see them and imagine for themselves what the flavor would be like? Breathing and murmuring under covers both of them have washed and hung out on the line, in a bed they chose together and kept together nevermind one leg was propped on a 1916 dictionary, and the mattress, curved like a preacher’s palm asking for witnesses in His name’s sake, enclosed them each and every night and muffled their whispering, old-time love. They are under the covers because they don’t have to look at themselves anymore; there is no stud’s eye, no chippie glance to undo them. They are inward toward the other, bound and joined by carnival dolls and the steamers that sailed from ports they never saw. That is what is beneath their undercover whispers.

This, I think, is why MRA types will never understand why The Husband and I married.

Looks like I’ve been moderated. Goodbye, all.