Act like a lady, think like a man by Steve Harvey Page A

woman back. I don’t know what’s going on behind their closed doors, but I’ll tell you one thing: she’s got the ideal husband now. Any married man can look at him and see how to get it done. But two things had to happen to him: first, he had to find out what was impor-

    tant to him, and what it was like to lose it. And second, he had to come to the realization that he needed to restructure his priorities: God first, then family. And you know what? He goes home every night. He’s making money, he’s extremely happy, and their family has nothing to worry about. And I heard his wife say, “My new man is something else.”
    They’ve been living in their happily ever after for thirty-three years now. He’s a helluva dude, man—and she’s a lucky lady.

PART THREE
The Playbook

    9  M e n  R e s p e c t  S t a n d a r d s — G e t  S o m e
    There are a few things you should know about my wife, Marjorie: She is incredibly talented and supportive.
    She is just as beautiful on the inside as she is on the outside. She loves the Lord. She is a terrific mother to our children. She’s classy and smart. And she cares for, respects, and adores me deeply.
    You should also know that my wife has a set of standards that I have known about and respected from the first day I met her.
    It started while I was doing a show in Memphis. She walked in with another attractive woman. I couldn’t help myself; I stopped mid-joke and said, “Excuse me, I know you don’t know me, but one of these days, I’m going to marry you.” She laughed and said, “You don’t know me.” But I didn’t care and I told her as much. I knew right then and there we were going to be married some day (of course, this was really more of a hope than a certainty—smile).
    Maybe she knew it, too, or at least liked what she saw because even though she disappeared the night I informed her of my plan, she showed up two nights later at another show of mine, and this time, I asked her to come backstage and talk for a while.
    She agreed, and we became fast friends, and even dated for a spell. But eventually, we both went our separate ways. Still, Marjorie and I always remembered the friendship we had together, and we reached out to check up on each other from time to time.
    Finally, Marjorie and I reconnected and started dating again; we got serious pretty quickly, both of us realizing that we had missed out on a great relationship once, and we didn’t want to risk losing out on it again. But, even though I knew I was in love with this woman and that she loved me, I was still connected to some women friends I had developed after my divorce, when I had really started dating again.
    Well, one particular night when Marjorie was visiting me at my home in New York on Valentine’s Day weekend, one of those friends called my cell. I didn’t talk much—said, “Hi,”
    told her we’d chat another time and that I’d stop and see her if and when I was back in town, and then hung up. I didn’t even think Marjorie heard the conversation—at least she wasn’t acting like she did. I should have known better, though. She’s got that “mother” hearing—doesn’t miss a thing. And sure enough, late that night, when I got up to go to the bathroom—it was about 3:00 A.M.—there was Marjorie in the hallway, standing there in her fur coat with her suitcase in her hand. She was going to leave me—leave us.
    “Where you going?” I asked her. Her response made me realize right then and there, in the middle of that hallway, in the middle of the night, that she was The One.
    “I’m not trying to be anybody’s plaything or anybody’s woman on a string,” she said matter-of-factly, her suitcase still in her hand. “I don’t think you’re ready for what I have to offer.
    I got these kids, I have a good life, and I want a man who will come in and complete my family. If this is what you want, too, I’ll be in Memphis.”
    After I picked up my jaw, I asked her