O' The Married Life:
Presented From an Obvious Bias
Presented From an Obvious Bias
You know it’s true, if you marry a girl for her beauty it is like buying a house for its paint. It is surprising how often that happens. That is just one of the reasons why I’ve said: “Everyone marries the wrong person.” It is one of the few aphorisms (I have many) that most women actual agree with. Nevertheless, it is also true that if you treat the “wrong person” as though they were the right person long enough, it may turn out in the end that you married the right person after all.
Of all the things that might be said about married life the following are hardly worthwhile at all, but that won’t stop me from passing them along to you.
A Philosopher’s Take on Marriage: Socrates said -- “By all means marry. If you get a good wife, you will become very happy; if you get a bad wife, you will become a philosopher and that’s good too.”
An Afterthought about Marriage:
Before I married Maggie dear
I was her pumpkin pie,
Her precious peach and honey boy,
The apple of her eye.
But after years of married life
This thought I pause to utter:
Those fancy names are now all gone,
I’m just her bread and butter.
When I Was One and Twenty
When I was one-and-twenty
I heard a wise man say,
'Give crowns and pounds and guineas
But not your heart away;
Give pearls away and rubies
But keep your fancy free.'
But I was one-and-twenty,
No use to talk to me.
When I was one-and-twenty
I heard him say again,
'The heart out of the bosom
Was never given in vain;
'Tis paid with sighs a plenty
And sold for endless rue.'
And I am two-and-twenty,
And oh, 'tis true, 'tis true.
A. E. Housman
Seven years of a cold
First year: “Sugar I am worried about my baby - you’ve a bad sniffle. I want to put you in the hospital for a complete checkup. I know the food is lousy, but I’ll arrange for your meals to be sent up from Rossini’s gourmet Italian restaurant.
Second year: Listen honey, I don’t like the sound of that cough, I’ve called Dr. Miller and he’s going to rush right over. You go to bed like a good girl, I’ll take care of the dishes.
Third year: Maybe you’d better lie down, honey, nothing like a little rest if you’re feeling badly. I’ll bring you something to eat. By the way, do we have any canned soup in the house?
Fourth year: Look dear, try and be sensible, after you’ve fed the kids and washed the dishes, you’d better hit the sack.
Fifth year: Why don’t you take a couple of aspirin?
Sixth year: If you’d just gargle or something instead of sitting around barking like a seal I could get some reading done.
Seventh year: For heaven’s sake, stop sneezing. What are you trying to do, give me pneumonia? You know how susceptible I am to colds.
A COUPLE OF LINKS
For the Man: Women Know Your Limit
For the Woman: The Anniversary Song
Of all the things that might be said about married life the following are hardly worthwhile at all, but that won’t stop me from passing them along to you.
A Philosopher’s Take on Marriage: Socrates said -- “By all means marry. If you get a good wife, you will become very happy; if you get a bad wife, you will become a philosopher and that’s good too.”
An Afterthought about Marriage:
Before I married Maggie dear
I was her pumpkin pie,
Her precious peach and honey boy,
The apple of her eye.
But after years of married life
This thought I pause to utter:
Those fancy names are now all gone,
I’m just her bread and butter.
When I Was One and Twenty
When I was one-and-twenty
I heard a wise man say,
'Give crowns and pounds and guineas
But not your heart away;
Give pearls away and rubies
But keep your fancy free.'
But I was one-and-twenty,
No use to talk to me.
When I was one-and-twenty
I heard him say again,
'The heart out of the bosom
Was never given in vain;
'Tis paid with sighs a plenty
And sold for endless rue.'
And I am two-and-twenty,
And oh, 'tis true, 'tis true.
A. E. Housman
Seven years of a cold
First year: “Sugar I am worried about my baby - you’ve a bad sniffle. I want to put you in the hospital for a complete checkup. I know the food is lousy, but I’ll arrange for your meals to be sent up from Rossini’s gourmet Italian restaurant.
Second year: Listen honey, I don’t like the sound of that cough, I’ve called Dr. Miller and he’s going to rush right over. You go to bed like a good girl, I’ll take care of the dishes.
Third year: Maybe you’d better lie down, honey, nothing like a little rest if you’re feeling badly. I’ll bring you something to eat. By the way, do we have any canned soup in the house?
Fourth year: Look dear, try and be sensible, after you’ve fed the kids and washed the dishes, you’d better hit the sack.
Fifth year: Why don’t you take a couple of aspirin?
Sixth year: If you’d just gargle or something instead of sitting around barking like a seal I could get some reading done.
Seventh year: For heaven’s sake, stop sneezing. What are you trying to do, give me pneumonia? You know how susceptible I am to colds.
A COUPLE OF LINKS
For the Man: Women Know Your Limit
For the Woman: The Anniversary Song