Mightier Than The Pen

Making The World A Bitter Place

Who Needs All Seven Deadly Sins?

leave a comment »

My wife and I had a discussion today about the seven deadly sins, and of which ones we could claim true ownership. Problem was, we couldn’t think of them all. We didn’t really care, which made us wonder whether Apathy was in the group, but not for very long.

Having no internet access at the time, and unsure of the exact source, we did the next best thing: ask someone. So I went and asked a friend (we still have some of those; when will they learn?), who rattled them off. Turns out we’d forgotten Envy and Wrath (so how come HE gets to remember all of them, and we can’t? That just makes me LIVID).

With this gap in our knowledge closed, we engaged anew in the discussion this evening. My wife feels certain she has mastered Gluttony and Sloth, and I know better than to argue with her. We agreed that while I can polish off a good meal or two with the best of them, she insisted that Gluttony remains her province, though she did allow me to share Sloth with her. I can also lay claim to Pride, Lust and Wrath, though not usually at once.

In fact, as the discussion bore out, our relationship seems to revolve mostly around Gluttony, even though, as stipulated, I must relinquish any title to it in her favor. For example, our dinner this evening consisted of a portion of what we call PMS pie: Oreo cookie crust; homemade Ben & Jerry’s chocolate peanut butter Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup ice cream as filling; hot fudge frozen over the top (we tell the kids that PMS stands for Pheed Me Some). To call this pie Heaven is to insult it. Yet I could not get through even a third of it (in my appetite’s defense, I am a good bit into a hefty head cold).

Such brain food features prominently in many of our tête-à-têtes, and many of the memorable moments in our relationship involve very good food (typical exchange: “What do you want for dinner?” “Steak.” “Me, too. But what can we afford to have for dinner?” “I dunno. Eggs?”). The first time I met her family, it resulted in my insinuating myself – unintentionally, I swear – into a family get-together at a grill restaurant. Several weeks after we started dating, she told me that her brothers, sisters-in-law and parents would be attending a book fair near me in Manhattan, followed by dinner at said grill, where Ms. Gluttony would join them. Not having met them, but dimly recalling from a photo what one brother looked like and how many children he had (two, very cute), I positioned myself where I had a good view of all people entering the facility. It didn’t take long, perhaps twenty minutes, before I spotted my quarry: a guy in a cowboy hat, with two adorable little children looking very much like the ones in the photo. I tailed them for a while, just to make sure, and got confirmation when the cowboy hat man left his offspring in the care of his mother: the spit and image of my sweetheart (mark the time and date: this has been the first, and likely the last, time that I ever refer to my wife using that term. My attitude toward pet names could not be clearer). I approached and admired the baby (he’s now nearly fifteen; just wow), then introduced myself. My interlocutor was not in the least surprised by my presence; I could see immediately where her daughter picked up that trait. So we made small talk, and the rest of the crew eventually gathered. Further introductions followed, and then her other brother – whom she likes to describe as the protective one, the one who, upon learning of my existence, I am told, railed against the little he knew about me – invited me to join them at the restaurant. She wasn’t in the least bit surprised to see me there upon her arrival.

We have plenty of other wonderful moments involving Sloth (as well as a fantasy or two – my parents have offered to take the kids for a night so the two of us can get away. It hasn’t been practical yet, but I think we’ll just spend the whole time sleeping), not to mention Pride (many of our conversations end by concluding that People Are Morons). Though you’d never have guessed that I have Pride from reading this blog, not at all. Now if you’ll excuse me, you little people, I must go finish some pie.


Written by Thag

October 2, 2010 at 9:56 pm

You got something to say?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s