To understand Bill Clinton's problems, one has to understand the dilemma of the modern, politically correct American male
IT was while we were living and working in the USA. The librarian often posted titbits gleaned from the newspapers on the university's basement bulletin board. The headline on the day's offering looked intriguing, so I stopped to read.
Dull wife good for a hubby's heart.
Ed stopped too. He scratched his head, being quite careful about not disturbing the lock of hair he had meticulously arranged over his receding hairline earlier that morning. He read on.
A heart specialist speaking at a California university said men who wanted to live longer should get dull wives because women with educational qualifications equal to or greater than their spouse's tended to want to use that education and thereby force their husbands into competing with them, which caused the husband stress.
Ed chuckled. "You know, that's quite true. My ex-wife... By the way, did I tell you about my new girlfriend?"
His imminent soliloquy on his new girlfriend was cut short by his boss. "Ed, what on earth are you doing down here? We've been holding up the blasted meeting for you," she said, sticking her head briefly around the door.
She didn't stay for an answer. She knew Ed often came in through the basement when late for work, to avoid being chastised by the no-nonsense receptionist. She knew also that Ed carefully arranged the lock of hair over his hairline while leaving his car and would go to the window to watch the ceremony every day with fond amusement. Ed did not know this.
It was a while before I cornered Ed again, this time in the coffee room, just after lunch. He was about to fill his fifth cup for the day.
"I've realised something quite important," he said. "I was wrong to date Marci only for her mind. I mean, I have my needs too, like any other man.
"We just didn't hit it off."
It took a quick mental shuffle to figure out that Ed was resuming his conversation of that morning, specifically about his new girlfriend. I remembered Marci. He had brought her over to our place for coffee one evening — she had seemed pleasant enough. I assumed she was now history.
"What are you trying to say, Ed?" I asked. "Is your new girlfriend a bimbo?"
"No, no," he answered, very seriously. "What I'm trying to say is that I dated Marci for the wrong reasons. Marci is a very nice, attractive, intelligent woman, but I think I was making a political statement, dating her even though there wasn't any physical rapport."
"Hmm, doesn't your new girlfriend have a mind, then?"
He paused for a moment to think about this, his hand, holding a coin, poised in mid-air above the coffee vending machine. "Yes, of course. Of course she's got a mind. The point is that I didn't go out this time looking for an intelligent woman as I had done when I met Marci. I was looking for someone who was basically compatible."
I sipped my coffee. "Lemme get this straight. This new girlfriend is as intelligent as Marci?"
"Yes."
"And Marci is an attractive woman too?"
"Yes."
"So the reason you find your new girlfriend attractive is that she says 'Yes' more often than Marci does?"
There was a clang. The coin missed the slot, bouncing off into the sink. "Yes. NO! I mean, well that's what I mean, but not quite that way. Oh hell..."
It's been some years since that conversation took place, but I remember it clearly today, along with that clipping on the library board.
And I wonder whether the world today would be a different place if Nancy Reagan had not created a tradition for First Ladies to "Just Say No"?