“Are you saying that geese have a culture?” (Image by Ralf Vetterle from Pixabay /)
My wife has been complaining lately about bursitis in her shoulder. My knees hurt, and it takes me a good mile to warm into any sort of jog.
Over coffee this morning, after exchanging Valentine’s Day pleasantries and inventorying our latest pains, I suggested that we both might be better off with younger, more physically fit, companions. She looked into her mug, then walked to the sink and rinsed it out.
I love my wife more every year. We’ve been married for 24 years this September. You’d think, after all that time, that I’d know when to share my observations and when to keep them to myself. Instead, I tried another angle.
“How does it make sense from an evolutionary perspective that we’d grow old at the same rate? Wouldn’t it make more sense to protect the wisdom gained through all our years by mating with someone more capable of protection and finding food and shelter. Even better at reproducing?”
She looked out the window at the slumping front porch posts—the ones I promised to shore up before the ground froze last fall—the way a chef looks at a hot dog. Then my mind flashed to all those old men I’ve seen at Safari Club conventions, with young ladies hanging on their arms. I tried to recover.
















































































