A CAUTIONARY TALE
Every relationship has certain moments one would pay large sums of money in order to forget. Julie and I had one such moment on September, 14, 1999. On that memorable day we were sucking each other faces, and I accidentally…
Yeah right! That was a deliberate…
…I accidentally sucked part of Julie’s face in. I promptly apologized and rather hoped the whole incident would be quickly forgotten. But embarrassing incidents rarely go away.
In the past, when chivalry was the code of the day, the man in my situation would have been expected to marry the woman he has just defiled. But today, when women get defiled more often than chickens beheaded, it is hardly the case. So I was quite astonished when Julie said:
“I hope you understand now, Peter, that you must marry me.”
“But look, Julie, I can’t. Have I ever told you what happened to my parents after they got married?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Listen then. When they met, my parents were normal people in every aspect. My mom was a nurse, and my dad was a roadkill remover. When they were young, they were even more run-of-the-mill. My mom used to be a member of the all-girl punk group the Slits, and my dad was Luciano Pavarotti. As they grew older, their tongues grew longer, and their love for each other grew stronger.
So one day my dad asked my mom’s hand in marriage, and she said: “Yeah, sure.”
Little did they know that it would lead to an utter disaster. Their wedding had been announced far and wide, and a lot of different people showed up, some of them, as it happens, without invitation. There was one guy who had been to the same school as dad, or something. His name had been totally forgotten, but he invited himself to the wedding as if he was a dear old friend. And he brought an ill-fated present with him.
“What present?”
“A book.”
“A book?”
“There was no one around to warn them, nobody who could open their eyes. I hadn’t been born yet, and my uncle Nicholas, the only man who had enough sense to avert the tragedy, had been killed by the Bolsheviks.”
“What kind of a book was it?”
“It was a book by professor Joseph Campbell.”
“Who the hell is he?”
“Professor Campbell was the smartest man alive before he died some twenty years ago. The book contained his teachings of profound wisdom. My parents were captivated by them, especially by his insistence that people must do what they most desire, hang on to their rapture. The prof called it following one’s bliss. Looking deep into himself, Dad discovered that what he desired the most was not scraping dead animals off the road, but to kill little old moneylender ladies. So he proceeded accordingly. Mom did a deep soul searching of her own and realized that her real rapture was not in changing bedpans and sticking needles into people, but to walk the city streets at night dressed in fishnet stockings, accosting passersby with: “Hey, big boy, wanna have some fun?” And that’s exactly what she started doing. Of course they found happiness they’d been looking for, doing what they had been so passionate about and this way enriching the community, but can you imagine how I, their only child, felt?”
“How?”
“The way it all was going, it was hardly surprising they were not able to give me a proper birth. People at the hospital had to do it for them, from the conception to the Caesarean. I remember myself as a kid – it was awful. Daddy was constantly on the run from the law, Mommy always at work, oftentimes bringing her work home. I was on my own, making myself sandwiches for school. My childhood was completely wrecked, which largely explains why I am such a sad wreck today. And all because one day my parents decided they were not happy enough as they were and would be better off being married.”
“What a heartbreaking story. A cautionary tale, indeed. You’re right, Pete, let’s forget about this idea. Let’s never get married.”
“I love you, Julie.”
“Likewise, Honey.”
Yeah right! That was a deliberate…
…I accidentally sucked part of Julie’s face in. I promptly apologized and rather hoped the whole incident would be quickly forgotten. But embarrassing incidents rarely go away.
In the past, when chivalry was the code of the day, the man in my situation would have been expected to marry the woman he has just defiled. But today, when women get defiled more often than chickens beheaded, it is hardly the case. So I was quite astonished when Julie said:
“I hope you understand now, Peter, that you must marry me.”
“But look, Julie, I can’t. Have I ever told you what happened to my parents after they got married?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Listen then. When they met, my parents were normal people in every aspect. My mom was a nurse, and my dad was a roadkill remover. When they were young, they were even more run-of-the-mill. My mom used to be a member of the all-girl punk group the Slits, and my dad was Luciano Pavarotti. As they grew older, their tongues grew longer, and their love for each other grew stronger.
So one day my dad asked my mom’s hand in marriage, and she said: “Yeah, sure.”
Little did they know that it would lead to an utter disaster. Their wedding had been announced far and wide, and a lot of different people showed up, some of them, as it happens, without invitation. There was one guy who had been to the same school as dad, or something. His name had been totally forgotten, but he invited himself to the wedding as if he was a dear old friend. And he brought an ill-fated present with him.
“What present?”
“A book.”
“A book?”
“There was no one around to warn them, nobody who could open their eyes. I hadn’t been born yet, and my uncle Nicholas, the only man who had enough sense to avert the tragedy, had been killed by the Bolsheviks.”
“What kind of a book was it?”
“It was a book by professor Joseph Campbell.”
“Who the hell is he?”
“Professor Campbell was the smartest man alive before he died some twenty years ago. The book contained his teachings of profound wisdom. My parents were captivated by them, especially by his insistence that people must do what they most desire, hang on to their rapture. The prof called it following one’s bliss. Looking deep into himself, Dad discovered that what he desired the most was not scraping dead animals off the road, but to kill little old moneylender ladies. So he proceeded accordingly. Mom did a deep soul searching of her own and realized that her real rapture was not in changing bedpans and sticking needles into people, but to walk the city streets at night dressed in fishnet stockings, accosting passersby with: “Hey, big boy, wanna have some fun?” And that’s exactly what she started doing. Of course they found happiness they’d been looking for, doing what they had been so passionate about and this way enriching the community, but can you imagine how I, their only child, felt?”
“How?”
“The way it all was going, it was hardly surprising they were not able to give me a proper birth. People at the hospital had to do it for them, from the conception to the Caesarean. I remember myself as a kid – it was awful. Daddy was constantly on the run from the law, Mommy always at work, oftentimes bringing her work home. I was on my own, making myself sandwiches for school. My childhood was completely wrecked, which largely explains why I am such a sad wreck today. And all because one day my parents decided they were not happy enough as they were and would be better off being married.”
“What a heartbreaking story. A cautionary tale, indeed. You’re right, Pete, let’s forget about this idea. Let’s never get married.”
“I love you, Julie.”
“Likewise, Honey.”
posted by Surge Levene at 4:42 PM
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