We just act like we’re in charge

All furniture would be “distressed.”

You could bet on weddings. Bookies would be on hand to take your action.

There would be only eight names of colors. “Taupe” would not be one of them.

Lots more things would be decided by a coin toss -- including dinner plans and engagements.

All sofas would be leather.

All chairs would be easy.

Peanut shells and sawdust would be considered desirable floor coverings.

Minivans would come with speedboats.

Selma Blair would do the “NBC Nightly News.” Afterward, you could call her with questions.

On the Sports page, all sentences would end with exclamation points!

Snoring would be considered exercise.

All meals would come with peppers on the side.

If you really liked someone, you’d show it by giving her a real good “noogie.”

Fishing wouldn’t require a license.

Hunting wouldn’t require a license.

Shopping would require a license (revoked at the slightest infraction).

All house paint would be latex.

After a social occasion, a well-executed high-five would be considered an acceptable thank-you note.

Furry things that would never be allowed into the house: cats, gerbils, hamsters, rabbits, ferrets, her mother, or any mutt smaller than a fist.

The speed limit on major highways would be 120 mph.

Playing catch would be considered foreplay.

“Black tie required” would be replaced by, “Please wear your favorite baseball cap.”

Ground beef would be named our “national meat.”

“Rib eye” would become a popular first name for a newborn son, and would quickly replace Trevor or Luke.

The word “slothful” would replace “thoughtful” in almost all contexts. (As in, “My new boyfriend is a really great guy: smart, good-looking and extremely slothful.”)

Formal dinner parties would always begin with a quick game of H-O-R-S-E in the driveway.

Kids’ leagues would always keep score, no matter the age.

Phrases in the lexicon such as, “Could you take the trash out?” would be replaced by, “Here, let me rub that for you.”

Hardware stores would outnumber Starbucks.

A box of good cigars would be considered an appropriate wedding gift.

Instead of “till death do you part,” the minister would warn, “Complain about his college buddies once and it’s over. Understand? Over!”

The deli guy would never ask what size sandwich you wanted; he’d just automatically make it as long as your arm.

There’d be no candle shops.

There’d be no fake turf.

You’d get to keep the same pillow for life.

You could divorce your in-laws but keep your wife.

There’d be one credit card. It could be used at parimutuel windows.

At some point on all first dates, women would be required to look deep into your eyes and utter, “You know, there’ll never be another quarterback like Brett Favre.”

Gardening would be like pre-game tailgating: everyone would be expected to get a little hammered.

Men would have their own bathrooms. They’d be detached from the house. Some would have moats around them.

On vacations, women could take only one suitcase. It would have to be smaller than the state of Connecticut.

Once on a team, ballplayers could never be traded.

Ballpark beer? Fifty cents.

Richard Hooker’s “M*A*S*H” would be required reading in the 11th grade.

The smell of a good cigar would be considered an aphrodisiac.

Canada would be turned into an 18,000-hole public golf course.

On your 20th wedding

anniversary, wives would be required to say: “Of all the things I love about you,

your personal hygiene habits are what excite me the most.”

Little girls would never grow up.

Little League would last 25 years.

Dr. Phil would be demoted to nurse practitioner.

Bill Murray would do at least one “Monday Night Football” game a season. In the second quarter, he’d mention you by name.