It occurred to me yesterday, as I was laying in repose, procrastinating from doing the countless of things I should have been doing, that it might be nice to have a slave – I mean, um, husband – around to see to my care and feeding. So, I did what any good American would do. I went shopping for one on the Internet.

And you know what? I didn’t find one. Not a single one.

Sure, I could sign on to a million, billion dating sites, find the man of my dreams, my perfect match, my soul mate, but I cannot simply order a husband from a catalog and have him FedEx’d to me next-day air.

This seems wrong.

If I wanted a date, I would go on a date. Romance, candlelight, soft-spoken words, meaningful glances and gazes, long walks on the beach… all very nic...

Please subscribe to keep reading.