If I had a dollar for every time John said, "Don't touch anything. I know where everything is", I wouldn't care how his office looked. I could afford to have it attractively - but hermetically - sealed off from the rest of the house. Besides, if John really knew where everything was, he'd know where the missing link was.



When we had children, the problem got worse. Scissors, pencils and tape disappeared constantly. No one knew where they went. If I ever find where the socks hide after they escape from the dryer, maybe I'll find all the other stuff too.

If opposites attract, John should have been the cook in the family. Instead, a non-cook attracted someone who so desperately didn't want to cook he praised my cooking. Needless to say, John ate his words as often as he ate dry meatloaf.

About ten years and two children later I was still the cook, but the feminist movement moved John and the boys into the kitchen to wash dishes. I was still the cook when it became popular for men to get in touch with their feminine side. John was inspired to take Chinese cooking lessons - but that's where my fortune cookie crumbled.

I'm a clean-up-as you-go cook. John on the other hand - the one with the third, dirty bowl in it - doesn't use the same cooking utensil twice. It's like taking time to rinse out a bowl would cause an unfinished symphony of flavors. When John cooks, I'm meant to wash the dishes; but cleaning up after one of his culinary creations is like being in an episode of "Mission Impossible".

Then there's sleep. Because I need at least eight hours sleep, I go to bed before John. Thankfully, this is no longer a problem for our marriage. Because we both have occasional back aches, we bought a miracle mattress. Because I had an eye injury, I wear an eye mask to bed. Now I have no idea when John comes to bed. Now I think aging solves the problem of opposites attracting.