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I would have to try hard to let Gwen think that I believed her every
word... while believing none and telling myself that it did not matter. I once
knew a man who, sane himself, was married to a woman who believed devoutly in
astrology. She was forever buttonholing someone and asking what sign her victim
was bom under. That sort of antisocial nuttiness must be much harder to live
with than Gwen's gentle delusion.
Yet this man seemed happy. His wife was an excellent cook, a pleasant woman
(aside from this hole in her head), and may have been a bedroom artist equal to
Rangy Lil. So why should he worry about her syndrome? She was happy with it,
even though she annoyed other people. I think he did not mind living in an
intellectual vacuum at home as long as he was physically comfortable there.
Having gotten off her pretty chest what was fretting her, Gwen went right
to sleep, and soon I did likewise, for a long, happy, solid night of rest. I
woke up restored and cheerful, ready to fight a rattlesnake and allow the snake
the first two bites.
Or ready to eat a rattlesnake. Come Monday, I was going to have to find us
new quarters; I'm usually willing to go out for other meals but breakfast should
be available before one has to face the world. This is not the only reason to be
married but it is a good one. Of course there are other ways to manage breakfast
at home, but marrying and conning your wife into getting breakfast is, I
believe, the commonest strategy
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