About a month ago, I purchased a book written by a local author, Charla Muller. The subject of this book has garnered her national attention, in some circles, that is men, attention of great regard and respect, and in others, that is, women, attention of great scorn and notoriety.

You see, Charla wrote a book describing her birthday present to her husband, sex every day for one year. Since reviews of the book ran in the Charlotte Observer and the New York Times, men all across the country have been happily clipping it and leaving on the breakfast table next to their wives’ cereal bowls as a hint, and as evidence that the secret is out, it is physically possible for a women to provide for certain needs if only she makes her mind up to do so. And predictably, women all across the country, have read the article with distaste and subsequently etched Muller’s name into their mental vendetta list as a woman who has betrayed them.

Last week, my friend Jeff and I were discussing how the standards of beauty have changed over the decades. There is a much greater standard for coiffing, plucking eyebrows, styling hair, wearing stylish, fitted clothes, accessorizing…In the conversation, I attempted to mention a few amusing paragraphs that Muller dedicates to this subject. However, I never got past “Muller.” The mention of her name sent my friend into a long, uninterupptable soliloquy about what a wonderful human being Muller is, how grateful he is to her, how special and amazing he thinks she is. Jeff is not a reader particularly and he hasn’t read Muller’s book. But he knows all he needs to know about her. He is fully aware of the book’s subject matter and thinks a greater woman has not walked the planet. He is ready in fact, to have her name tattooed across his body, I believe in multiple places. He proclaimed, “I love that woman,” no less than twenty times in the space of as many minutes. “I wish every woman would listen to her and hear her message!!”

“Whoever said that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, wasn’t a man,” he asserted emphatically. “In the ranking of things a man loves, food is going to be a distant second, way down on the list compared to sex. If a woman can’t cook, a guy isn’t going to care if he has to order carry out every night. But if a woman doesn’t give him “something else,” it’s not like he can go to a store to get it. If a wife gives her husband that, the rest really doesn’t matter that much.” By the time he was done singing the praises of Muller eight hours later, it was time to leave work. (It was disappointing news really, because I’ve spent a lot of effort trying to be a good cook.)

He begged me to do whatever I could to spread this message, so I promised him I would. [1] Here is a link to Charla’s website. Just please, don’t print this post and leave it beside your wife’s cereal bowl unless you trim off the website name first.