Like K on the dock for some unarticulated offense I have been the object of my wife's tireless resentments for forty-two long years.
We've been married for forty-three and not unhappily, I hasten to add.
Happiness is accepting the ones you love for what they are without any abiding ambition to change them.
For me, being the readily-at-hand vehicle for emotional release and psychological abuse has been my privilege and my joy.
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| My bride Betty in the flower of her corpulent youth circa 1983 |
You see, I love my wife and if I could turn back the clock to those halcyon days of misspent, drug addled youth I would marry her again in a quivering heartbeat.
Look, let's face it, nobody's perfect and as Philip Larkin famously pointed out, our parents are always to blame for our inability to function properly as adults.
You see, Betty is cold which is surprising to most people because she's also fat and fat people are generally jolly. She also trims the nails on her left hand first, another telltale marker of the sybarite, but here again, Betty disappoints.
There's only one side of the bed for Betty and that's the wrong side. She greets the day as a grouch and she returns to our nightly nest with a slant of mind only slightly less impaired.
At work, I'm told, she's a dreamboat of equanimity and good cheer. It's Betty that arranges the birthday balloons, organizes the pot luck lunches and sends encouraging emails to her discouraging peers. Betty never wishes anyone anything less than a "great" day and at the office all is "awesome" and everyone is a "rockstar."
I know she adores me because she saves the brutality of her sincere feelings for me and me alone.
As Kafka pointed out, lying is a universal principle. My exemption from this principle vis-a-vis my bride is nothing less than the deepest expression of complete, deep and unconditional love.
Thank you Betty.
(and fuck you too)
You see, Betty is cold which is surprising to most people because she's also fat and fat people are generally jolly. She also trims the nails on her left hand first, another telltale marker of the sybarite, but here again, Betty disappoints.
There's only one side of the bed for Betty and that's the wrong side. She greets the day as a grouch and she returns to our nightly nest with a slant of mind only slightly less impaired.
I know she adores me because she saves the brutality of her sincere feelings for me and me alone.
As Kafka pointed out, lying is a universal principle. My exemption from this principle vis-a-vis my bride is nothing less than the deepest expression of complete, deep and unconditional love.
Thank you Betty.
(and fuck you too)
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