Have you ever noticed that any occupation sounds faintly sordid and ironic when used as the descriptor of a corespondent? It’s absolutely true. Try it.
“My wife left me for her chiropractor.”
“Yesterday my husband eloped with an architect.”
“All was going well until Jan abruptly filed for divorce and moved in with the plumber.”
“Natalie arrived home to find her goldfish dead in the bowl, a pile of unpaid bills and a note from her husband saying he had fallen in love with a tour guide.”
“Tonight I ran into my wife with her new flame, a purveyor of steak knives from Tallahassee.”
“After her husband left her for a truck driver Bethanne took to drinking heavily.”
“I don’t see Matilda much any more. Last I heard she was still happy with the prison guard she left me for. They were expecting their third child in March.”
You see? While one presumably has nothing against architects, truck drivrs or even chiropractors, one’s sympathy is aroused - and one finds oneself forming a faint sneer and going “Oh, an architect. I bet his mommy still does his laundry.” Or ringing up seventeen of one’s closest friends to say “Did you hear about Pauline? Her husband ran off with a lady from Greenpeace!”
Also, I have discovered that the good Lord did not dower me with the ability to clean ovens. It’s probably a sign.
Mathew Says:
Miriam Says: