I checked myspace for the first time in a month and a half this afternoon. Looking through some of the blogs I had missed, I happened upon a particularly interesting blog topic by a long lost fellow debater. This is my twist on an exceptional prompt. Fictitious names, occupations, and general temperaments have been used to protect people I haven’t even met yet.
Possible Future Wives of Christopher Kaasa:
Danielle was born into an upper-middle class family of small business owners and financial professionals. She is spoiled but honest, usually hardworking, and generally well-intentioned. We both share a passion for fine wine and food that was cooked and served by someone else, like the same kind of movies, and enjoy reading. We both get jobs in offices adorned with beautiful dark oak desks; these jobs are high in stress and low in natural sugars, threatening to make us bitter and obese. Luckily, she insists upon exercising every time we go out to eat, so our cholesterol levels don’t really become a problem until after early retirement at the age of 54. Sources of conflict include my constant complaining about the exercise and the tiny yapping dog that bites my toes for no reason.
Ralina is attractive because she’s unstable and unpredictable. A playwright by trade, I love her passionately but cannot bear to be in the same room with her colleagues, friends, family, or anyone remotely like her. She expresses herself by loudly proclaiming her aesthetic tastes, yet it seems that all the books she reads, movies she sees, and music she listens to have only one thing in common – violent shifts between tones of elation and tones of anger and despair. We fight about goddamn-near everything, but needless to say the sex is fabulous. Underneath it all, her nature is warm and wise, and she cools down with age. I see my primary role in the relationship as ensuring that we don’t become a gun-owning household, for both our safety.
Ally is a workaday girl-next-door brunette who hides an amazing depth and intellectual brilliance beneath an exterior of charming down-to-earthness. She scoffs at romance on TV but remains a sucker for it in real life; an occasional rose on the dashboard or a well-timed “Today I woke up more in love with you than I ever have been” will inspire just a tiny tear of pure joy. On the flip-side, you know her temper is lost when she refuses to speak more than three syllables at a time. She starts her career over several times, always at entry level, and by virtue purely of merit and a personable nature rises to one supervisory position or another in a matter of months. She lets me work long hours at a job I love, but wisely takes firm control of the credit cards and bank accounts. Sources of conflict include my tendency to splurge on chocolate and other creature comforts and her need to have pets in the house.
Hannah, like me, is a fiery and (if I may say so) cunning attorney. The only difference is that my political convictions led me to join the ranks of the state Attorney General’s legion of anti-monopoly public interest prosecutors, while she felt obligated to protect good old fashioned American corporate enterprise. Our relationship began one late night in the law school library when, after being forced to work on a project with a person whose entire philosophical framework we despised, we discovered we both consider Rousseau to be a fascist; appropriate fireworks proceeded from there. Our home is an extremely well-furnished mess, we’re too busy working to spend money, and neither of us eats enough. At home we engage in epic battles over progressive taxation and clean air regulations. The minister who conducted our wedding said that we wrote the most beautiful, eloquent vows he’s ever heard, and our best memories are lying together in bed watching ancient reruns of The King of Queens and Frasier.
Today's Musical Insight:
"Just because I'm sorry doesn't mean I didn't enjoy it at the time."
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