The Cynthia Nixon cinnamon-bagel-with-lox fiasco reminds me of a story my Dad's old bookkeeper once told me. During the Great Depression, her Mom put a raisin-bread and Velveeta sandwich into her father's lunchbox because that was all they had in the house.
Her father doesn't want Mom to feel bad, so he tells her how much he LOVED the raisin-bread-and-velveeta.
You know what happened next, don't you?
She bought more raisin bread and velveeta.
You know what happened next, don't you?
She bought more raisin bread and velveeta.
He carried that same sandwich to work every day for decades, because he didn't have the heart to tell his wife that it was ... well, as disgusting as a raisin-bread-and-velveeta sandwich would be. And having lived through the Great Depression, actually ate the damn thing.
And while his children knew that he loathed them, as far as his wife was concerned, he took the secret to his grave.
If you want an image of perfect marital love and fidelity, imagine a man's teeth biting into a raisin-bread-and-velveeta sandwich. Forever.
If you want an image of perfect marital love and fidelity, imagine a man's teeth biting into a raisin-bread-and-velveeta sandwich. Forever.
