If Your Lady Is Jealous Of 'Alexa,' You Might Want To Run

Media/Entertainment

There are a lot of good reasons to not have an Alexa or whatever the Google version of Alexa is in your home. Like, for one, the thing where they are always listening to and spying on you all of the time and the thing where people can hack them with lasers. That is all pretty terrifying.

A bad reason, I guess, to not have an Alexa, would be because you are so insanely jealous that the idea of your husband asking a robotic lady voice about the weather sends you into a spiral. You wouldn't think that would be a thing for anyone, but it is, I guess, a thing for Helen Ellis, who wrote an essay titled "I'm Not Jealous, I'm Territorial" for Roxane Gay's Gay Mag — which is chock full of more red flags than you can shake... a red flag at.


I don't think jealousy or "being territorial" is cute. It's not my thing and has never been my thing. I do not compete. This fact has actually bothered a lot of men I've dated, because they interpret this as me not caring about them. That is stupid. This lady, however, clearly thinks being jealous and territorial is absolutely adorable and charming and honestly, if anyone knows her husband, they should tell him to run because this sounds like an extremely psychologically abusive situation.

The other day, I found a bunch of t-shirts like the one in the feature image here, and I thought to myself "What the hell kind of person would buy that? I guess we know now. It is this lady.

So let's get to the fisking, shall we? She starts the essay out by explaining that she would not ever have an Alexa because she doesn't want her husband talking to "another woman" more than he talks to her. She claims that she is not actually afraid he will leave her for Alexa, while noting "But you can never be too sure. These things happen. And Alexa knows all of your man's things."

HUH.

You'd call me crazy if I let another woman sit in the corner of my bedroom, all day, every day; never sleeping, or in want of food, water, chitchat, or a toilet; able to summon my husband's every whim from Amazon like a modern day Barbara Eden in a bottle.
"Alexa! Order a cooling eye mask and a box of Nicorette."
"Yes, Master." Blink.
Nuh-uh, no way. I Dream of Jeanie genie, Jeff Bezos robot lady, or Playboy centerfold — they are all the same to me. I ain't letting none of them in my house. Because it's my house and my husband is mine. I'm not jealous, I'm territorial.

You know, I would call someone who did that crazy, but not because of that hypothetical woman being competition for her husband's affections. Rather, I would think they were crazy because they were keeping an actual human being captive like that "Girl in the Box" couple or something. I'd also have a lot of questions about why she doesn't have to pee ever.

This, too, is not normal:

If my husband cheats on me in my dreams, I wake up furious. Or I used to. A few years back, I made it a New Year's resolution to stop chastising him as soon as he opened his chocolaty brown eyes because, as he has said: he didn't DO anything.
My husband never does anything. So, I trust him. I just don't trust the rest of the world.

I don't... how would that work, even? Like, no one is going to force your husband to cheat on you, lady, and if they did, that would be sexual assault.

She is also jealous of a salad bar?:

When my husband eats forty-two salads while I'm out of town, I get nervous because someone gave my husband something I could have, but didn't.

And she's jealous of men who play poker:

A man at our home poker game had the habit of getting up from his seat to rub other men's shoulders. I was the only woman at the table, and he knew better than to lay hands on me, but when he put his meat hooks onto the bare skin of my husband's neck, I said, "Get your hands off my husband!"
"What?" he laughed.
All the men laughed.
I said, "Would you massage another man's wife?"
Message received.

And other people, apparently, are not allowed to text her husband or communicate with him in any way.

Other helpful hints include: Don't call, text, or email my husband to make social plans, contact me. Don't give my husband a gift, because I will construe whatever it is as too personal. Don't talk about my husband's butt, only I get to talk about his butt. Don't post a picture of my husband with his shirt off on your Facebook page. No, it doesn't matter that he was sitting on softball bleachers with six other men who had their shirts off on the hottest day in history. He is half-naked, and that glistening sun-kissed chest is mine, not yours to share.

And I ain't sharing.

Ew. No one wants you to, and also who even thinks about these things?

Ellis also keeps her friends in line by making sure they never compliment his suits:

When I told my friend Hannah about this, she said, "I don't remember what you did years ago, but I figured out real-quick that I wasn't supposed to say nice things about his suits."
I said, "I probably dumped a bowl of spaghetti over your head."
Hannah said, "No it wasn't that."
"Did I tell you flat out: don't talk about my husband's suits."
Hannah said, "I think you gave me a look."
Yeah, I can give a rough look. There's nothing scarier than a happy peppy woman going dark in an instant. It's like a Raggedy Ann doll foaming at the mouth. You see that once, you don't ever want to see it again.

I would imagine! What I cannot imagine is why anyone would ever be friends with someone like that.

The husband, also, is not allowed to learn the Heimlich maneuver:

He may compliment another woman's intelligence, sense of humor, career, and accomplishments; but he may not compliment her appearance. He may hug a female friend hello (upon her initiation), but he may not otherwise touch her unless he's administering the Heimlich maneuver, which out of respect for me, he has never bothered to learn. He doesn't need to know the Heimlich maneuver, because I know the Heimlich maneuver, and the latest CPR method, and how to use an airport defibrillator. My husband knows how to dial 9–1–1.

It's the Heimlich maneuver, not the hymen remover. Jeez.

Is it satire? IT DOESN'T SEEM LIKE SATIRE. I wish it were satire, but it genuinely seems to me like this lady is trying to make being a psychotically jealous and abusive person into some adorable quirk, which it is not.

Anyway, this is now your open thread! Enjoy, share your thoughts, and also let your spouses learn the Heimlich maneuver and don't get jealous of robots! OH! Also — I don't know if any of you live in the general Western NY area, but I will be back in Rochester for a couple weeks, and if there is enough interest I would be happy to do a drinky thing while I am there!

[Gay Mag]

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Robyn Pennacchia

Robyn Pennacchia is a brilliant, fabulously talented and visually stunning angel of a human being, who shrugged off what she is pretty sure would have been a Tony Award-winning career in musical theater in order to write about stuff on the internet. In addition to her work at Wonkette, she also has a biweekly column at Dame. Follow her on Twitter at @RobynElyse

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