I was chatting with a married lady about the rigors of travel.
"I do like seeing other places," I said, "but I am such a bad traveler. The rattling plane, the jet lag, my tendency to hurl . . ."
She blinked in puzzlement. "Oh, I'm like that too," she replied, "but my husband takes care of me." She made it sound like every woman has a man who would, of course, tenderly hand them a Dramamine with a considerate glass of twice-filtered water, followed by a tidy tuck-in.
To my embarrassment, I got a little teary-eyed.
|I need a small army to cart me around.|
I am no romantic, and thanks to my powers of observation it is all too evident that not all marriages are alike.