Marriage Requires Amnesia
The New York Times
Do I hate my husband? Oh for sure, yes, definitely.
After 15 years of marriage, you start to see your mate clearly, free of your own projections and misperceptions. This is not necessarily a good thing.
When encountering my husband, Bill, in our shared habitat, I sometimes experience him as a tangled hill of dirty laundry. “Who left this here?” I ask myself, and then the laundry gets up to fetch itself a cup of coffee.
This is not an illusion; it’s clarity. Until Bill has enough coffee, he lies in a jumble on the couch, listening to the coffee maker, waiting for it to usher him from the land of the undead. He is exactly the same as a heap of laundry: smelly, inert, almost sentient but not quite.
Balenciaga starts the heavy breathing. With shimmies from Hermès, Stella McCartney and Victoria Beckham.
The Glyndebourne Festival, which receives little government support, has been mostly immune from recent convulsions of the opera industry in Britain.
One of the last remaining union-run hat factories in the country is in New Jersey. Over more than three decades, its workers have made hats for competing campaigns.
He won the award playing a Yonkers feed store clerk in “Hello, Dolly!” and was also nominated for roles in “Thoroughly Modern Millie” and “Hair.”