There are certain essentials in life that are plain and obvious to everyone, those things that you cannot do without because they are necessary for the very survival of man. Air, water, land, that perfect pair of shoes that goes with all of your outfits, that cute purse that you can always trust to pull through any formal occasion, that tie that lets everybody know that you may not know much, but you sure have taste. There are certain essentials in life that you dare not go through life without; and one of these is Mr. Jones.
Let me explain. As you go through life, doing what you usually do, there is always a chance encounter of unfortunate disproportions and disturbing realism; when you meet a being who you know your friends must never find out about. Because of the disruptive labels we mark on people, because of the images on television, in GQ and Glamour, we are prone to severe undulating moves towards what we think is an “acceptable” image. A size ten is preferable to a size twenty, 120 pounds, better than 300 pounds of flesh, blonde hair definitely better than nappy hair, the lighter you are (sometimes…sometimes…) the better for you (sometimes…sometimes…). We know what we want and the image has been imbedded in us ever since we watched that music video with Rihanna, or noticed how Brad Pitt’s abs glistened as he tore down bodies and souls in the land of Troy. We think we know what constitutes the acceptable image and hence forth we set out in life.
Once in a while, ladies, there comes a person, who not so much fits that picture you had in mind. And I know you know what I am talking about. For some reason, when the two disproportionate worlds clash, it is starry and even magical; but there is one problem. You dare not let your friends find out, you dare not let the world know about your Mr. Jones.
See the thing is, Mr. Jones is a necessity, an essential being: a lady cannot go through life without him. He is an ego booster, always ready with the compliments even when you do not need them. Sometimes life is easier with Mr. Jones around because you do not have to work too hard to please him…the “love” “fancy” “infatuation” bug is rolling in wondrous cadence throughout his person. You can name a handful of reasons why you like him; but you can name a million and one reasons why you should not even be giving him a second look. He is not exactly the person you are going to take home to daddy, or sing praises about when you call up mummy, he is not the one you are going to introduce to your enclave of friends, definitely not the name you will be uttering in general circles of known associates. Simply put, you know that Mr. Jones will not fit into your world, but for some reason you like him and would like to have him around, so you keep him, hang him up in your secret closet, if only for a little while, if only for as long as his role plays out, as long as his essentialism runs out, then you can wave Mr. Jones goodbye.
Everyone has their reasons for having a Mr. Jones; maybe its loneliness, maybe its boredom, maybe its selfishness, to make one feel better about oneself, or maybe, just maybe, it is fear and pressure, lunacy and intoxicating liberalism; but one thing is clear: he has a purpose and he serves it well. And there are many reasons why he is Mr. Jones, and not a prospective mate. Maybe he speaks a different language from the one you and your circle of friends speak, maybe he is from that abhorrent part of society that no one dare speak of, maybe he does not look like Cruise, does not dance like Brown, can’t think like Chan, or maybe, and here we get into more hairy stuff, he is an ex-convict and your preppy life style just cannot accommodate him. Sometimes you just know that you don’t really have a lot in common to talk about, maybe you don’t even speak the same fashion or read the same books. If you put Mr. Jones next to the previous men in your life, he would look like the lost alien landed in the middle of Antarctica, completely lost, no comparisons there. Whatever the reason, you have your Mr. Jones and a secret he will remain as long as you live.
A word of caution though; do be careful that Mr. Jones does not dump you; it can be a real blow in the face, a nerve wrecker, a train crash, adverse, repugnant, very unfitting, definitely something you should avoid. Usually this never happens because he is probably so glad to have you in the first place that he would roll out a red carpet for you, he would kill for you, die for you, act foolish for you; and that is the reason why you are with him in the first place, because you know that no matter what you do, he will forever be sincere and loyal, fearing that if he isn’t loyal for thy being, you will leave him; how endearing!
And you gentlemen too have your Mrs. Jones. They are tucked away in some corner, hidden from the knowledge of all those guys who you know will never give you a break once they find out about her. She is probably not your type, not the kind of girl you would go for, or maybe she is the kind of girl you would definitely go for but because of “image” “looks” and a dying need to preserve “social order” you make her your Mrs. Jones. She’s not blonde enough, tall enough, smiley enough, good God why the hell are you with her! You can’t take her to momma for a number of reasons; could it be that she does not know how to cook, could it be she dresses different from what momma is used to, could it also be she weighs more than is “acceptable” according to the standards that you simple-mindedly invented. You like Mrs. Jones because there are needs that she, perhaps, fulfills that nobody else can. And, to get more controversial here, maybe you know that she has always dreamt of a guy like you, an Adonis of sorts, and she probably doesn’t stand a chance with you in the first place, and so you play on this little insecurity of hers, and she becomes simply, obedient, all adoring, Mrs. Jones. And when her task is fulfilled, when her job is done, please remember to send her on her way-with a box of tissues and a copy of “He’s Just Not That Into You.”
Please don’t allow yourself to be a Mr. Jones, or a Mrs. Jones. I hereby grant you permission to have, to own, to keep a Jones, but I forbid you from becoming one. Give yourself a hard look in the mirror today and ask yourself whether you are someone’s Jones. And if you think you are, slap yourself once, then twice, then three times, snap out of it and get over it.: It is only fear, insecurity and a dangerously low feeling of self-worth that can put you in a that position. But know this, the world will always have its Jones’ no matter what we do; just don’t be one of them. Have I ever had a Mr. Jones…wouldn’t you like to know…Have I ever been a Mrs. Jones…I am not giving you the satisfaction of revealing that either (actually I probably have, I’m just too proud to admit it). But I love watching people around me turn into Mr. Jones, Mrs. Jones, always without realizing the transition, it is like they cannot see what is happening right in front of them. It is fun to watch and giggle over, but it does not make it any less disparaging. For all you sorry, pathetic Jones’s out there, boo hoo to you, get a hold of yourselves and don’t be so misused; and as for you owners of the Jones’ good for you, congratulations, you just ascended the throne to selfish-liberalism.
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