Love and Marriage, Part I

I don't understand people. Even being one doesn't seem to help. --Spider Robinson

All too often I read something in the paper that utterly mystifies me. Today's mystery article is here.

"Who would want to be married to a person who nobody coveted?" asks the husband of the supposedly alluring Nigella Lawson. This question seems reasonable on the surface, but dig a little into it and there are several layers of wrongness underneath.

First and most facile, most men want to be married to someone whom no one else covets: witness the conventional reaction a husband has when confronted by another man who has a sexual interest in his wife. Yes, some men are aroused by this, but I think they're a minority: most of us feel at least a little insecurity, and some of us let our insecurities rule our rational thoughts.

(Perhaps I should restate that: most men want to marry a women whom everyone else covets, but who magically becomes completely undesirable to everyone but them once the ring is affixed. How exactly that magic is supposed to work is unknown.)

Eva and I have had this chat more than once with the sexes reversed. Not that other women have ever (would ever) show an interest in me, but hypothetically, we've played out the scenario.

"Do you trust me?" I ask.
"Of course", she says.
"Then it shouldn't matter whether or not you trust Skanky McSlutwhore."
"Ah, but women are devious."

You can go endlessly around that particular bush without resolution. Except I have to fight down the totally irrational jealousy myself whenever I hear of another man coveting my wife. I don't hold with jealousy: I consider it a shameful, deeply damaging emotion. It hurts to acknowledge that after many years in this mindset, I am still subject to occasional twinges of it. Why should I feel pain at another's happiness? And isn't it flattering and happy-making to be the object of someone's attention and desire?

So do I trust my wife? Of course I do. Implicitly. Do I trust other guys? Very few of them. And do I feel vaguely threatened whenever Muscles O' Greasestain  shows up in my imagination, let alone in real life? Yeah, a wee bit. I've got no reason to, of course, and she need not worry when his cousin Skanky makes an appearance. But reptilian brain-stems have their own imperatives.

The linked article makes reference to a study conducted at UBC. Seems that married couples told to act the way they did when they were first dating are more charming:


In other words, they put their best foot forward – the kind of foot that wins a mate over other desirous hearts, not the kind that wears comfy slippers around the house and takes it for granted that the competition is over so why bother turning on the romance any more?


I have so many problems with this incredibly common dichotomy that I'm not sure where to begin.

I wasn't out to "win" Eva. I know there are those out there who see life as an endless, Darwinist competition, but I was looking for a lifemate, not a trophy. If Eva had befriended me and gone on to marry someone else, I would have been happy for her and for him. It would have meant that despite all appearances, she wasn't the right person for me.  Having thrice been in love with women who seemed right for me at the time -- one of whom I still count as a close friend -- I can tell you that the search for Mr. or Mrs. Right can lead you through some interesting and yes, enchanting locales.

But since I wasn't out to win a wife, I didn't try to present myself as anything other than what I am. Why would I? Eva would have fallen in love with a lie, and been disillusioned and probably mutinous when the comfy slippers came out.
And despite those comfy slippers that both of us wear, I can assure you I don't take Eva for granted and I certainly don't feel taken for granted myself. After thirteen years, if there was any granted to be taken, I think one of us would be feeling it by now.