This page written circa 21 May, 1999.
I gather, without specific detail, that some readers of this
column feel that I might be undervaluing my wife.
I assure you this is not so.
To anyone listening, I think she is the sanest, sexiest, sweetest
person I know. I would not trade her for anyone past or present,
I know she is working very hard on the Meri Project, and
I appreciate how much other stuff she gets done, much of it single-handed,
and I mean that literally.
Now you might have formed this sad impression on account of the warmth
of my attitude to some past loves. Let me make it quite clear that this is
an unfounded inference of comparison! If you read, into any payment of
due credit, the idea that I do not value the present or that I prefer
the past, this is your problem. Likewise, it would be wrong not to
acknowledge good things from the past.
When I write the soapboxes, in particular when I wrote the one about
excitement not being Kay's forte, I did my best to point out that I
appreciate all the good bits.
Of course people take "thrill is not a word likely to find
itself used in context with Kay" to heart more than "I love Kay and I am
enjoying living with her", or more than noticing the whole sentence in which
the phrase is embedded: "Next, for all her good points, thrill is not a word
likely to find itself used in context with Kay. (Of course, I am always open
to correction.)"---an invitation to challenge me if I ever saw one.
However, saying that I intended no harm, and making a case for the trivial
nature of the comment, do not lessen the hurt. I am trying to make up for
it. I do value Kay, and I never wanted to hurt her.
If my saying those things, even with good intention, has caused distress,
I apologise.
Finally, to put this sort of stuff into perspective, I include below a
well-worn tale that has done the rounds of the internet, and is humorous
into the bargain.
If you've not seen it before, you will enjoy it.
Let's say a guy named Roger is attracted to a woman named Elaine. He
asks her out to a movie; she accepts; they have a pretty good time. A
few nights later he asks her out to dinner, and again they enjoy
themselves. They continue to see each other regularly, and after a
while neither one of them is seeing anybody else.
And then, one evening when they're driving home, a thought occurs to
Elaine, and, without really thinking, she says it aloud: ''Do you
realize that, as of tonight, we've been seeing each other for exactly
six months?'' And then there is silence in the car. To Elaine, it seems
like a very loud silence. She thinks to herself: Geez, I wonder if it
bothers him that I said that. Maybe he's been feeling confined by our
relationship; maybe he thinks I'm trying to push him into some kind of
obligation that he doesn't want, or isn't sure of. And Roger is
thinking: Gosh....Six months.
And Elaine is thinking: But, hey, I'm not so sure I want this kind of
relationship, either. Sometimes I wish I had a little more space, so
I'd have time to think about whether I really want us to keep going the
way we are, moving steadily toward . . . I mean, where are we going?
Are we just going to keep seeing each other at this level of intimacy?
Are we heading toward marriage? Toward children? Toward a lifetime
together? Am I ready for that level of commitment? Do I really even
know this person?
And Roger is thinking:...so that means it was...let's see...February
when we started going out, which was right after I had the car at the
dealer's, which means... lemme check the odometer... Whoa!
I am way overdue for an oil change here.
And Elaine is thinking: He's upset. I can see it on his face. Maybe
I'm reading this completely wrong. Maybe he wants more from our
relationship, more intimacy, more commitment; maybe he has sensed --
even before I sensed it that I was feeling some reservations. Yes,I bet
that's it. That's why he's so reluctant to say anything about his own
feelings. He's afraid of being rejected.
And Roger is thinking: And I'm gonna have them look at the transmission
again. I don't care what those morons say, it's still not shifting
right.
And Elaine is thinking: He's angry. And I don't blame him. I'd be
angry, too. Gosh, I feel so guilty, putting him through this, but I
can't help the way I feel. I'm just not sure. I never should have
mentioned it. Now he probably feels cornered, like I'm being too
aggressive and now he wants out. But hey, maybe I want out too? I need
to think.
And Roger is thinking: They'll probably say it's only a 90-day
warranty... that's exactly what they're gonna say, the scumballs.
And Elaine is thinking: Maybe I'm just too idealistic, waiting for a
knight to come riding up on his white horse, when I'm sitting right next
to a perfectly good person, a person I enjoy being with, a person I
truly do care about, a person who seems to truly care about me. A
person who is in pain because of my self-centered, schoolgirl romantic
fantasy.
And Roger is thinking: Warranty? They want a warranty? I'll give them
a !@#$%^&* warranty. I'll take their warranty and stick it right
up their....
''Roger,'' Elaine says aloud.
Then he takes her home, and she lies on her bed, a conflicted, tortured
soul, and weeps until dawn, whereas when Roger gets back to his place,
he cooks some popcorn, turns on the TV and immediately becomes deeply
involved in a rerun of a tennis match between two Czechoslovakians he
never heard of. A tiny voice in the far recesses of his mind tells him
that something major was going on back there in the car, but he is
pretty sure there is no way he would ever understand what, and so he
figures it's better if he doesn't think about it. (This is also Roger's
policy regarding world hunger.) The next day Elaine will call her
closest friend, or perhaps two of them, and they will talk about this
situation for six straight hours. In painstaking detail, they will
analyze everything she said and everything he said, going over it time
and time again, exploring every word, expression, and gesture for
nuances of meaning, considering every possible ramification. They will
continue to discuss this subject, off and on, for weeks, maybe months,
never reaching any definite conclusions, but never getting bored with
it, either. Meanwhile, Roger, while playing golf one day with a mutual
friend of his and Elaine's, will pause just before putting, frown, and
say: ''Mike, did Elaine ever own a horse?''
''What?'' says Roger, startled.
''Please don't torture yourself like this,'' she says, her eyes beginning to brim with tears. ''Maybe I should never have...Oh, I feel so...''
(She breaks down, sobbing.)
''What?'' says Roger.
''I'm such a fool,'' Elaine sobs. ''I mean, I know there's no knight. I really know that. It's silly. There's no knight, and there's no horse.''
''There's no horse?'' says Roger.
''You think I'm a fool, don't you?'' Elaine says.
''No!'' says Roger, glad to finally know the correct answer.
''It's just that...It's that I...I need some time,'' Elaine says.
(There is a 15-second pause while Roger, thinking as fast as he can, tries to come up with a safe response. Finally he comes up with
one that he thinks might work.)
''Yes,'' he says.
(Elaine, deeply moved, touches his hand.)
''Oh, Roger, do you really feel that way?'' she says.
''What way?'' says Roger.
''That way about time,'' says Elaine.
''Oh,'' says Roger. ''Yes.''
(Elaine turns to face him and gazes deeply into his eyes, causing him to become very nervous about what she might say next,
especially if it involves a horse. At last she speaks.)
''Thank you, Roger,'' she says.
''Thank you,'' says Roger.