Just a Few "Extras" Will Do

You hardly hear a kind word for polyandry any more. In fact, I doubt that many men ever ponder sharing their women with more than one husband.

More's the pity, since wives seldom nag mates through the week's to-do list before running out of week. It's just the nature of modern stress that there's always one more trip to K-mart to be made, one more bag of charcoal to pick up at Jack B Quick.

There are some men who think polygamy is a more appealing solution to accomplishing the work of a well-run household, but the extra babies alone would weaken that plan from the outset.

As responsibilities pile up at the Snodgrass house, I give increasing thought to adding a stable of auxiliary husbands.

Not that the current Mr. Snodgrass is slack. He does his best, but laboring long in the vineyards of Shuford Mills, he often fails to accomplish all the home tasks that crop up.

If I had the time, space, and patience to train a few subordinates husbands to help him out, I would start with a mobile model.

Auxiliary One would spend most of his time on wheels, ferrying dry cleaning and bank deposits, restocking the fridge, rotating tires, and dashing to distant malls, which my side of town lacks.

Armed with cellular phone, Auxiliary One would stay in constant communication with Auxiliary Two, the yard model, who would mow grass, keep the drive swept, prune mums and roses, replenish the bird feeder, and stack oak splits and kindling for the hearth.

Together, this vital pair would anticipate long before evening that I needed mulch for the haycinths or that I craved the latest Redford video for evening entertainment. 

Auxiliary Three, more of an office valet than hubby, would remian at constant readiness. A professional helpmeet, he would stamp outgoing packages, service fax and copier, and see that I get my Lemon Zinger, noodle soup, and Monteray Jack on toast at noon.

If I were going extra-heavy into polyandry, I would also want a fourth auxiliary to spend hours perusing Julia Child and thinking up new shish kebabs, squash casseroles, and tarts to cook while keeping my oven showroom shiny.

I'm sure that, by the time my household had grown to six adults, I would have to lay in extra groceries, but I wouldn't mind throwing on a few more pork chops if it meant the house ran as smoothly as Buckingham Palace, as professionally as NASA.

Of course the conjugal arrangements might prove more titillating than my neighbors would tolerate.

As Brigham Young proved, when it comes to multiple mates, you can't please everybody.

Yet, like most testosterone-centered political leaders, he never let a bit of adverse neighborhood commentary spoil his family planning.

Perhaps if I launched the National Polyandry Party, I would find millions of women delighted to tap into Young's success.

They would have child tenders galore and more than enough sugar daddies to wrestle the really yucky chores, like changing furnace filters and taking the pooch to the vet. And best of all, if a husband or two strayed from the fold, they would scarcely be missed.