Some human males (such as Fraser and Niles Crane) attend the opera. Other human males do not partake in this cultural type of event.

However, a sect of human males DO partake in opera. It’s just they must drank large quantities of beer whilst doing so, which makes them appear boorish and loutish during performances.

What does a human female do if thine husband is an opera lout? It’s a step above having a football hooligan for a spouse, but a step below being married to a truly upstanding member of society who owns many acres of land. Let us explore this complex minefield of a topic.

The Tragic Tale of When Man and Beer Met Opera

Dear agony aunt,

I like going to the opera. I like getting dressed up, arriving, nabbing a cheap ticket off a ticket tout, drinking champagne, pelting out a soprano impression until one of the security guards warns me to shut up etc. For me, it’s all part of the wonderful experience. I’m 47 and trying to act my age, of course, because my headbanging days of listening to Avril Lavigne and Sum 41 are long gone. Now I’m just so much more mature and respectable. One elderly gentleman last week, at The Marriage of Figaro, called me a, “Fine filly of a horse” (I presume that is a compliment because he said it with a giant, leering smile on his knackered old crinkly face).

While that’s all great and all that there is a problem. My husband Dave. He’s 49 and prefers drinking beer, picking his toenails with a bottle opener, and burping. He hates the opera. He thinks it’s “for girls” and “mad bastards”. This philistine embarrasses me so!

“Dave, my husband beau darling, if that is the case do I, your beloved wife, strike you as a ‘mad bastard’ as you put it?”

He sneered up at me from the sofa, beer in hand, surrounded by toenail clippings, just sitting there in his white underpants, and went, “Yeah!”

The solution to this was to take him to the opera. I promised to pay for all the beer he wanted if he went with me (otherwise he just refused). After 10 visits to the opera two issues have emerged:

1. This was costing me a small fortune.
2. Dave was getting extremely drunk every time and making a fool of himself.

Halfway through The Magic Flute he roared out “MAGIC FUKE MORE LIKE! AHAHAHAAH!” and got us booted out of the theatre because he then took his trousers off and proceeded to whirl them around his head. There are many other tales like this, but the sad reality is he won’t attend the opera unless he’s tanked up on beer. We arrive with him stinking drunk and then it’s only a matter of time before he’s cost me £50 and we’ve been ejected from the premises.

What is the solution here, agony aunt?

Yours,

Bronwyn

Hi there, Bronners! Your husband sounds like a disgusting waste of space, but it’s kind of your problem you married him. Why make it our (problem)?

Still, seeing as you’re here and we’ve got nothing better to do, our immediate suggestion is to stop attending the opera. Sounds like you’re ruining the experience for everyone else, too, so stop that you selfish git.

However, if you refuse to heed this advice we suggest the following—JOIN THE OPERA.

Think about it. You could be Pavarottionwyn, which is a superb name everyone will remember. Your husband could also join up and be a drunken tenor (or something). If he continues getting beer we guess he’d be happy about that.