What do we live for, if it is not to make life less difficult for each other? — George Eliot on marriage.
Disagreeing with a great author seems foolishly brazen so I’m not saying George Eliot was wrong. Just maybe wrong-ish in some cases:
“Do you currently require information about deadly goose spreads and mallard tornadoes? And follow up question: what is a goose spread and a mallard tornado?” I ask.
“I don’t know. I’ll look it up on my phone,” my husband answers.
“No! I might need that.”
“Stuff. Like finding out what goose spreads and mallard tornadoes are.”
“Stuff that you definitely could not easily find on the internet should the desire strike you?”
“Exactly. That kind of stuff.”
“All right. Are you currently making a cabinet that requires high speed steels for wood machining or inventing a time machine that will allow you to travel back to February 2010 and hunt winter rabbits in
“Good. Then I can recycle the February 2010 “Field and Stream” and three 2009 “Cabinet Makers.””
“Really? I know you don’t like it when I use the term “hoarder” so what should I call you?”
“An incredibly handsome, well prepared man.”
“All right, incredibly handsome, well prepared man. How would you feel about doing some painting?”
So with all due respect to George Eliot I wouldn’t say that we necessarily make each other’s lives less difficult. Better, maybe. But not less difficult. Despite the difficulties, though, having someone who will keep your pointless magazines or indulge your mania for chalkboard paint against their better judgment has a certain comforting charm.
|Image from atticmag.com|