A Streetcar Named Ernie
I always thought I would marry an artsy kind of guy.
But every time I dated a man who knew about the ballet, or literature, or film – nothing ever sparked.
Then I met a man who knew NOTHING about culture. Really Nothing. And I was delighted with him. He knew cars and tools and construction. He knew computer systems. He knew real estate. In short, he knew the stuff that I know nothing about, but stuff that is important to know.
And I married him. He built our fabulous home and he fixes our cars. He plows our road. And he negotiates with absolutely everyone for absolutely the best deal.
I get to be the artsy one. Which is the role I love. And I love that I have no competition. My taste rules!
He’s a manly man and I’m a girly girl. A perfect match.
I actually love that “culture” is a mystery to him. Pop culture is a bigger mystery. And it endears him to me that he doesn’t care.
The other day we were watching TV and someone was singing “I Could Have Danced All Night.”
“I always liked that song,” he said. ” Who sang that? Ethel Merman?”
And who could not be charmed by his magnificent ignorance of those horrible Olsen Twins? They were mentioned on the news recently, and he asked, “Aren’t those the girls from Bristol who competed in synchronized swimming?”
But my favorite case of mistaken identity came several years ago.
We were watching a program about the growing acceptance of homosexuality. There was an overview of the contribution that gay artists had made to our culture. Among those discussed was Tennessee Williams.
My husband was disconcerted. “Tennessee Williams was gay? I never would have guessed. Wow. I just can’t believe it. Wow.”
The program continued, but I was distracted. I wondered why this particular playwright’s sexuality would affect my husband so much.
A good ten minutes later, I said: “Sixteen Tons.”
“Yeah!” he said. “He was great! And he had such a deep voice. Just goes to show you never can tell.”
That’s when I had one more reason why I love him.