Monday, June 20, 2011
So, I saw "Hall Pass" yesterday. (Shut up! It was mindless, cheap entertainment.) In the movie, after embarrassing themselves and their wives repeatedly by leering at women, talking about the lady parts of family friends and getting caught by police masturbating in the family mini van, two middle-aged, suburban dads are each given a "hall pass," or a week off of marriage and permission to do what they will. The rationale being that the men will appreciate maturity, their wives and their meager sex lives, once they realize the grass isn't always greener and that the hot, 20-something barista at the coffee shop isn't dying to hop on a khaki-wearing, 40-year-old insurance salesman.
"Hall Pass" was good for a chuckle, but its premise made me itch--that being the hackneyed notion that married couples don't have sex. Correction. That, once married, women turn into frigid bitches, nefariously depriving their affection-starved husbands of marital congress, forcing the poor things to debase themselves by ogling jiggling co-eds and stroking to relief over the Victoria's Secret catalog.