Let me make something perfectly clear: the man I married is fantastic. I’m pretty bad at writing down all the reasons I think that—mostly they’re too big and broad and messy.
Example: How do you sum up the fact that you appreciate the fact that he does half the housework (including vacuuming because, holy gods, you hate vacuuming) because it’s his house, too, and he takes pride in it, plus your gender doesn’t mean you’ll suddenly be a neat freak (and, he wonders, why would someone think that?), and the closest thing you’ve had to a conversation about how he needs to clean is you asking “Why do your socks end up under the table?” which turns into a hilarious conversation? Hallmark doesn’t make that card.
So, readers, keep that in mind as I tell this story. Also remember, the Husband is brilliant. I’ve proofed his resume before, and the sheer variety of programming languages he knows fluently (let alone the proficient and familiar columns) is a sharp reminder I didn’t wed no dummy. But while he can keep all those syntaxes and commands (They have those, right?) straight in his head, he does not have a good memory for names.
The Husband and I were driving home from dinner, and through the course of conversation, Game of Thrones came up—a show neither of us have watched, since we haven’t got HBO. Specifically, for reasons I won’t go into, I point out Eddard Stark is played by Sean Bean.
“Who is Sean Bean?” the Husband asked.
“He’s the guy that played Boromir in The Fellowship of the Ring.” Blank look. “He was the Russian double agent in that Bond movie. Goldfinger—no. The one with Pierce Brosnan that sounds like Goldfinger?” Blank look. “They made a really good video game out of it?”
“Yes. He was the double agent in GoldenEye. 006.”
“Ah.” No. Not ringing any bells.
“And he was Boromir.”
Husband has not read The Lord of the Rings, I should note. “He was the guy who went off the deep end a little and wanted to take the ring? And then he dies at the end of the first movie?”
“So I know I’m supposed to know who that is. But there were like a million people in those Lord of the Rings movies—”
“There are nine people in the Fellowship.”
Skeptical look. “No way! More like fifty. There are a bunch of hobbits and a bunch of humans and—“
“There are four hobbits—Merry, Pippin, Frodo, and Sam—two humans–Boromir and Aragorn—Legolas, Gimli the dwarf, and…” Check fingers. “Gandalf. Nine.”
“Oh. But there are more people in the movie.”
“Yes, but those are the important ones. They’re the Fellowship.”
“Ah. Who’s Aragorn again?”
“He’s…The greasy one.”
“All the humans looked greasy.”
“Yes, but Aragorn’s the really greasy one…If you were going to offer the use of our shower to the Fellowship of the Ring, you would make Aragorn go first. Then Boromir. Who’s Sean Bean.”
“OH!” Quiet. “What is Game of Thrones anyway?”
“Fantasy mini-series. Made-up medieval times-ish. Not a lot of magic stuff.”
“But…they’re aren’t playing the game? It’s not like they’re pulled into the world?”
Readers, rest assured. I’m taking full responsibility of the fantasy component of Baby Evans-Hyphenate’s literary education. But (especially since I’ve only just stopped yelling at the monitor when things lock up) his dad will probably handle the computer literacy. And the vacuuming.