Well, I just want him
To put the seat down
When he goes to the bathroom at night
I go in there and I sit down
And it's cold and wet
And there’s more hair on his feet than on his head.
When my husband was much younger, he was on a business trip and overheard some older male coworkers trading stories about their wives.
The specifics of the stories don’t matter. (I don’t remember them, anyway.) What matters is the punchline, when one of the men said to the other, “Yeah—but don’t tell my wife!”
This joke slayed. The gathered men broke into uproarious, red-in-the-face laughter. My husband, to his credit, thought the reaction was much funnier than the actual joke, and he couldn’t wait to come home and tell his wife about it.
The punchline has taken on a life of its own between us. Whenever my husband and I hear a certain kind of boomer-humor—the kinds of punchlines that made Everybody Loves Raymond and the King of Queens mega-sensations, or that made the Ice Age movies billion-dollar hits—he and I will lean over to each other and whisper, “Yeah—but don’t tell my wife!”
“Shut Up Shuttin’ Up” is a four-minute ode to the “Yeah—but don’t tell my wife!” punchline. The guitar work is good, I guess? But all the nagging in the voiceover is too distracting to hear much of it. Maybe it works for y’all, but this one is a big swing and a miss for me.