“Why are you so mean?” I ask my wife of many years.
“Am I beautiful?” she says by way of reply.
“You are exceptionally beautiful.” (I mean it. I am not just talking.)
“Am I creative?” she asks further.
“You are one of the most creative people I know.” (She is a talented, vigorous, imaginative painter.)
“Am I a good cook?” (Her cooking used to be downright awful, sickening, literally. Now, nearly everything she cooks is delicious.)
“A very good cook, by any standard.”
“So, why should I be nice too?”
I stand mute, defeated. Yet, there is one thing that gets to her, one pathway to her self-indulgent, self-centered brain:
“Too bad you have such a tiny bottom.”
My wife is obsessed with that small issue. While it’s obvious that 80 % of American women labor to reduce their buttock size, or wish they did, my wife is deeply saddened by the thought, the assessment, the judgment that Nature endowed her modestly in that area. It makes her inconsolable, practically desolate!
Now, I have her full, pleading attention
Reason does not do any good with her. Fortunately, unreason works its magic. She might even consider becoming nicer in the future, just in the hope that I might overlook her small ass.
(By the way, it looks just right to me. It’s her obsession, not mine but what do I know? I am only a man.)