My wife

At potluck during my work hours, I explained why I would not be joining my coworkers at a boozy event later. (I do not like the idea of socializing with people with whom I work outside the auspices of the facility. It increases politicking and the belief that I want my professional and personal life intermingling, which is why I will not allow anyone from my job to add me on social media.) Amber's hours were changed the day before. It no longer made sense for us to go to that party late when we had to wake up early the next morning. Though Amber offered that I could go on my own and she would meet me, I did not want to go alone. I spend enough of my day seeing these people when I am paid to do it. Free food would not be enough to induce me to do it without backup.

(I heard afterward that "free" was a generous description of the paltry offerings. One of my coworkers informed me that she had spent almost a hundred dollars on drinks and all of them ordered pricey entrees.)

One teacher asked what my wife does. I launched into a Brief History of Amber, detailing our meeting and her brilliance, how she has presently dedicated herself to being a vet tech. In total, my explanation lasts six sentences, as well-rehearsed as the monologue is. Having described Amber so often, I think little of it and return to picking over the fruit plate.

The next day, a coworker informs me that my gushing was a topic of conversation after I went home. It was reportedly thrilling to hear me to be so in love with my wife. It showed them a side of me that I do not have cause to share at work, where there is by necessity a barrier. It would not do to have my students know much about my personal life, and a few of the guards are little better.

The implication--not a rare one--is that a husband, even one of a mere five-year vintage, should not be in love with his wife. Love her, sure, as he loves a sister or cousin, but not like her. She should be seen as a harridan looping a gold chain around her husbands testicles to stop him from bedding coed and forcing him to clean up his messes. I have never understood this. Yes, Amber and I get on the other's nerves a bit on occasion, but that is the nature of domesticity. She is also my best friend. I adore her. I want to spend at least five minutes a day kissing her neck. I am astounded by her skills and accomplishments. She is tender and kind to me enough that I have better learned how to treat myself. Of course I am in love with her. I am not an idiot.

Some are joined in relationships by necessity, for financial survival or to raise children. They may not like one another. They may in fact hate one another, but they maintain the relationship because they have to. They have my sympathy to have to choose this. With everyone who has a choice, it baffles me that they would remain committed to someone with whom they cannot be in love.

I do hear it a fair bit. The guards at my job berate their wives or opening detail cheating on them, often in front of our residents. I try to redirect them away from setting a bad example for the children, but it is not a bad example for them. It is a well-worn cultural expectation that wives trapped them into matrimony, usually be failing to use birth control (or so they say it). Woman nag, men act like children and cheat. Why would I think it would be any different?

I hope this doesn't come off as gloating. This is not my intention. It is more than it did not occur to me that liking someone one sleeps next to nightly is so rare a thing. I do not love Amber more than she deserves to be loved. If I seem effusive on the topic of Amber, I can assure you I am in actuality understated. I love my wife because that is how one should feel about the person with whom they have chosen to share their life. If I didn't feel that way, I wouldn't have married her.

Soon in Xenology: Magical thinking and witchcraft.

last watched: Dracula
reading: Mogworld