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TheReview Wednesday, March 27,1991 — A14_
a A :

Those were fighting wordst

My friend Adrian says the only way to stay sane
is never to leave your own property. Last week my
husband and I had to go to the mainland to be ona
talk-show.

Everything went smoothly until we reached the
hotel. My husband said he was supposed to take
the parking ticket to the front desk and have it
validated. I said you always leave parking tickets
face up on the dash. He raised his voice; I
threatened to strike him on the head with my
ovemight bag. Having reached a stalemate, we
took separate elevators to our room.

The room had everything, right down to a
complimentary sewing kit in one of the drawers. I
checked out the walk-in closets while my hus-
band read aloud the price list at the Honour Bar.
Each miniature cost five dollars and fifty cents:
even though I wasn’t speaking to him I suggested
we drink the vodka and refill the bottle with water
(after 20 years of dining out on poet’s wages you
Start thinking like a criminal). My husband,
discovering a seal that had already been tampered
with, said some other criminal had beaten me to
it, suggesting I was incapable of original thought.

More sober by the minute, we set out in search
of a restorative. Near Gastown we met up with a
bookdealer-friend; the bar he took us to had Live
Girls performing on stage. My husband and friend
drank beer while discussing the “narrative of the
dance.”

“She must be all of 18,” my husband said,
eying a firm pair of 18-year-old breasts. He must
have thought I needed reassurance as I sat there
with my duffel coat buttoned.

“She’s probably never had an original thought,
either,” said the bookdealer.

The argument on the way back to the hotel was
even more heated than the one about the parking
stub. In the privacy of our room I withdrew into
the closet to change and informed him that not
only might I sleep in that closet tonight, I was
going to undress from now on with the lights out.

We took the same elevator down to the
restaurant, which was noisy. We would have to
drive the car (if it hadn’t been impounded) to the
radio station so I shouted over the din, did he get
the parking ticket validated yet? It was the wrong
thing to shout because he started shouting back
and then, as a hush fell over the dining room, got
up in a huff and left me.

I sat there, my tortellini untouched. I was
trapped. My car was down below in the parking

garage, my husband was up above with the
unvalidated stub. I figured I would let him suffer a
while longer (I had our money — he’d have to
walk to the station) before paying the $56.91,
excluding GST, for a meal we hadn’t puta dent in,
and returning to our love-nest.

I was trying the handle of our door when a
waiter from Room Service, with a ham sandwich
for one, materialized. He looked me over, raising
an eyebrow at my short skirt and: net stockings,
before he knocked.

~ Enjoy yourself this evening, sir,” he said to my
husband on his way out, as if I were part of the
mattress.

I didn’t bring up the parking ticket again. We
took a cab to the radio station. Our topic:
Marriage, What Makes it Work? Before the
programme began, my husband confided to our
host, “We came here to enjoy ourselves but we’re
having the worst night of our lives.”

“Why wouldn’t you?” our host replied. He
didn’t seem in the least bit concerned that could
be live on the radio yet not speaking. “You’re
married, aren’t you?”

Those were fighting words. My husband and I
looked into each other’s eyes; we weren’t about to
let some meddlesome stranger turn us into
Stereotypes.

On air, we rallied. Love made our marriage
work. My husband said he loved my original
mind; I said I loved his body, He said he loved me
even when I was wrong; I said that never
happened. By the end of the show we were
holding hands under the microphone; later still I
was able to say that the most thrilling part of the

evening for me had been more than the discovery -

of the little packet containing complimentary
thread, a needle and two buttons in the bedside-
table drawer.

The next morning, when my car was still there,
my husband didn’t say, “I told you so.” We got
out of the lot though he’d forgotten to get the
ticket validated: I paid the $10 parking fee and
didn’t even hold it against him.

My friend Adrian has lived with the same
woman for 18 years. Yesterday he came to tell me
how they’d left their property in North Saanich
for a romantic weekend in Victoria.

“Are you totally insane now?” I asked, hope-

- fully.

““We had the time of our lives,” he said. ““We’re
thinking of getting married next, and going as far
as Vancouver.”

An Extract Fe World order can be founded only on
FROM Baha’i an unshakeable consciousness of the
STATEMENT oneness of mankind, a spiritual truth

ON PEACE which all the human sciences confirm.
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