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"I need a little brother So I come out of the bedroom naked with underpants on my head screaming like a zombie from 28 Days Later until, blinded, I trip over the coffee table and go down in a heap on the floor. So what? What&amp;amp;#8217;s wrong with that? Or maybe I cue up the house computer to YouTube, in particular to the snow-cone scene from Jackass (if you don&amp;amp;#8217;t know what I&amp;amp;#8217;m talking about, please, for your own sake, do not find out) and watch it seven times in a row even though it makes me want to puke. Or, as Blossoms is getting ready to go to a party, I tackle her from behind onto the bed, pinning her to the mattress while she&amp;amp;#8217;s got an earring in one hand and a lip gloss in the other. And yes, when I do this, I am laughing my ass off. &amp;amp;#8220;Down goes Blossoms!&amp;amp;#8221; I say. Then I actually try to get her to slap-box with me. (Slap-boxing is one of the most fun things you can do. It&amp;amp;#8217;s a game of reflexes and nerve and results in very few injuries.) She&amp;amp;#8217;s not laughing. She&amp;amp;#8217;s not angry, necessarily. But she has that look on her face that says, &amp;amp;#8220;I&amp;amp;#8217;m just barely tolerating you right now.&amp;amp;#8221; &amp;amp;#8220;What?&amp;amp;#8221; I say, releasing her from my grip. &amp;amp;#8220;What? It&amp;amp;#8217;s fun!&amp;amp;#8221; &amp;amp;#8220;I wish you had a little brother,&amp;amp;#8221; she says. This is a common refrain lately. I wish you had a little brother&amp;amp;#8230;to play Wii with. To have a Coke-guzzling contest with. To watch the long, painful, terrible collapse of the New York Mets with. And you know what? I wish I had a little brother too! See, the best part of cohabitation and marriage is that you get to spend all your time with your best friend. The awful part of cohabitation is that you spend all your time with a girl, which is great for lots of things but not so good when you want to be a boy. And yes, I can be a boy with my guy friends for a few hours a week, but sometimes I want to be a boy not at the appointed time. Sometimes I want to see who can get to the top of the hill faster when I happen to be on a hike with Blossoms. Sometimes I want to tackle her off the dock and into the water. Sometimes I want to make fart jokes, or worse. Strike that. Usually I want to make fart jokes, and worse. It&amp;amp;#8217;s a constant struggle to keep it all above board for her sake. I&amp;amp;#8217;m doing my best, but suppressing these urges taps into my biggest marital fear: that I will become a husband instead of a guy. That we will cease to be a couple, featuring a feisty, hot, feminine woman and a masculine, funny, unreconstructed man, and instead become what I call the Sexless Unit. You&amp;amp;#8217;ve seen these people at the airport. They are wearing matching baseball caps and sneakers. They both have asexual hairstyles. They both have slightly womanly hips. And nothing scares me more than the sight of them ambling toward me by the Cinnabon at gate C17, like a message from a terrible future. Read more Married Jake &amp;amp;gt;"^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.glamour.com/sex-love-life/2008/10/jake-married-i-need-a-little-brother>