What We Learn
11 September 2008
When she was five her parents discouraged her from dressing as a princess for Halloween, and that was when she learned she was ugly.
After the honeymoon, they moved into their new home together. He marveled at how little junk mail comes to a new address, and he wondered why he hadn’t moved sooner just for this benefit. It wasn’t until years later when he realized she skimmed the mail before him, never getting over that time he signed them up for a wine club which cost them hundreds of dollars for not reading the fine print.
She didn’t love him anymore, that much was certain. When his mother died, she held him and ran her hands through his hair. But she kept eating that sandwich.
At the salad bar, her mother filled her plate with lettuce, cucumbers, tomatoes, sprouts, carefully avoiding the beets. “I don’t like beets,” the child realized.
He tried out for the basketball team and came home to tell his father he hadn’t made the cut. His father nodded knowingly. “You choke under pressure.”
Among their group of friends, she had always considered herself to be one of the cooler, hipper ones. She knew of bands before they became big. She did daring things with her clothes years before they became trendy. But no one asked her advice when it came time to pick outfits for their senior trip.
And then one day, in a fit of rage, he admitted he had only married her out of fear of growing old alone. Yet, without tears, she simply nodded.
Here's to the complications of living!
