I enjoyed reading about other people's dating disasters on iVillage here. They were so amusing I decided that I wanted to add my own:
Before I got married I went on a number of internet "blind" dates. I put that in quotes because, of course, we had corresponded through the dating sites to before deciding to meet. I had a lot of terrible dates.
One such date was with a guy who worked for the FDA inspecting meat processing plants. Ok, pretty interesting. He seemed pretty cool so we agreed to meet for dinner at a cool tapas place.
I show up for the reservation and we sit down for dinner and he immediately says, "Listen, I don't mean to rush you, but a lot of my family members are having a get together nearby and we need to leave to meet them in half an hour."
What? Family? Meet? Half an hour? How are we supposed to get through dinner and pay the check in only half an hour?? And who said anything about meeting his family?
So, ok, I'm not really sure what else to do but continue with the date. We order and he tells the waiter we need our starters and appetizers all at the same time, we're in a hurry. Then he starts telling me about his family. It turns out he's one of 15 children or something. He's the youngest and several of his older brothers and sisters had children around the same time he was born. So he has nieces and nephews who are the same age he is. Numerous nieces and nephews. And cousins. His parents are the same age as my grandparents.
Our food arrives and he wolfs it down. I'm still working on my appetizer (why did we even order appetizers if we're in such a hurry??) when he starts asking me if I'm done. The waiter comes by and this guy asks for the check. ("Check please!"). He pays the bill and I give up on finishing my food.
I start to thank him for dinner and he says "No no no! You have to come with me! I told them you're coming, they're expecting you!" Umm, ok... I give in, thinking I'll meet everyone and then escape. As we're walking to the "meeting" place he tells me "Oh, and it's REALLY IMPORTANT that you don't tell them that we met on the internet. They'll mock me forever."
Ok, so how did we meet? I start to open my mouth to ask this question but we've arrived, the door has opened and introductions are being made. It's a small apartment of one of the many relatives I guess, and there are about 25 people in the room.
We've been there maybe 5 minutes when someone asks "So, where did you meet?" I turn to my date. He turns BRIGHT RED. "Ohhhhh, um, we - uh - we met in.... college! Yeah, college."
"Oh, really!" They turn to me. "So, you went to Ohio Wesleyan." WTF? Ohio? I've never even been to Ohio. I turn to look at my date and he has this pleading look on his face. "Yep," I confirm.
"Really!" they say. They clearly know this is a ruse, probably by his behavior. "What made you want to go to Ohio Wesleyan?"
"Oh, it just seemed like a good place to go," I say, shooting daggers at my date with my eyes.
"So, which dorm did you live in?" another one asks. My date gives the name of a dorm. "No kidding! I lived there too! And I was a RA. What year did you graduate? I don't remember seeing you there."
HUH? My date made me lie and he came up with a lie that can be shot down by the people in the room?!?!
"Oh, I wasn't there much," I say. "Too busy off campus." They are clearly enjoying this and continue to grill me. Now I'm having to make stuff up about a state I've never seen and a college I know nothing about. So I give up and start to just make stuff up with whatever pops into my head.
"Yeah, I used to take trapeze lessons in that gym they installed above that old movie theater. You remember, the one on main street that shut down? There was a circus training center there. I managed to get college credit for the circus work I was doing there." They were absolutely enjoying watching him suffer through the entire conversation knowing, I'm sure, that there is no circus training center or shut down movie theater or probably even a Main Street.
In any event, I finally extricated myself from them despite his pleas to the contrary and then didn't answer his calls, despite his attempts to contact me for the next two months. I mean, seriously, WTF????
Friday, October 28, 2011
Monday, August 15, 2011
Now the thing about having a baby (and I can't be the first person to have noticed this) is that thereafter you have it. ~Jean Kerr
My husband wants a baby. He points out babies that are cute. He goo-goos when he sees babies in the grocery store and will actually play peek-a-boo with small children who are sitting at a table near us in restaurants. He even sighs over little bitty clothes. No kidding.
Of course (you've guessed it) I'm less excited by the prospect. The real problem? My sister was born when I was a teenager (whoops!) and my father had a job that required a lot of travel. My mother, meanwhile, has a problem with degenerative discs in her spine, which means that she cannot carry heavy things and she is often in bed, in pain.
So guess who did a large share of childcare when she was growing up. Yup. Me. About four weeks after my sister was born my father was out of town and my mom was in bed. When my sister would start crying to be fed in the middle of the night, my mom would get me out of bed. How did she do this when she couldn't sit up? The telephone. She would call me.
I talked on the phone so much when I was a teen that my parents put a second line into the house, which ran straight into my bedroom (kids didn't have cell phones back then). I thought this was super cool. Until my sister was born. So it would run like this:
Me: [snoring]
RRRINGGGG!!!
Me: Unghngh, hellow?
Mother: Mallllllllll - eeeeee - naaaaaaaaaa. I need you to do me a favor. Could you get up and make a bottle? And feed your sister?
Me: What time is it?
Mother: Feeding time.
So I would drag myself out of bed, make the bottle and go sit in my mom's bedroom so she could oversee the feeding. ("Hold her head a little higher - that's right. Now you have to burp her.") It was an intensive on the job mothering training program.
I also had the dubious honor of toting my sister around, since my mother couldn't lift her (or a lot of items at the grocery store). I wore her in a sling, in a pouch that left her arms and legs free, and, eventually on my back in a backpack. (People used to come up to me and tell me I was a little wh*re and personally responsible for the downfall of America's morals, but that's another story for another day.)
I have the dubious honor of having been thrown up on repeatedly, peed on, and there was even an episode involving explosive diarrhea that I won't get into. She has also thrown up in my shoes twice and in my purse once. I see lots of blogs out there with moms complaining about the above. Imagine having to deal with it when you're a teenager. And you didn't even get any sex out of the deal. Yeah.
I don't really resent my parents for putting me through all this. They were doing the best they could with what they had. And now I know what it takes to raise a child. Intimately. So, the thing is, I feel like I've been there, got the vomited/pee/etc-stained-t-shirt and don't necessarily need to go there again. I recently met an older lady bemoaning the fact that her recently divorced 27 year old daughter had just moved back home. With three grandchildren. All under the age of 6. She shook her head and said, "I love them, but I already raised my share of children. I don't really want to do it again." Boy, could I ever relate.
But my husband is seriously obsessed with babies. He keeps asking me if my biological clock is ticking yet (his mother confirms he was definitely born male). All this talk about children made me wonder what was up with him. Why do people decide to have children anyway? Maybe I'm missing something. I had to laugh at the comments to this blog post. There are a lot of people out there who vehemently maintain that having children is SO TOTALLY WORTH IT. I don't disagree, I love my sister very much, I have lots of war (and embarrassing!) stories to tell, and she is a wonderful person.
But I kind of feel like it's a zero-sum game. That is to say, kids bring a lot of pain and suffering and difficulty and expense to your life. And they also bring a lot of joy and happiness and pride and pleasure. So you're sort of back where you started before the pain and suffering.
Judging by the comments to that blog post, though, a lot of wanting to have children (if you're not a huge kid person) is due to some sort of biological drive. Which is good! It means that, at some point, my horomones will kick in and make me desperately feel like I need to reproduce. I certainly hope so. Because right now I literally wake up just about every morning and think "WOOHOO! NO BABY!!!"
Of course (you've guessed it) I'm less excited by the prospect. The real problem? My sister was born when I was a teenager (whoops!) and my father had a job that required a lot of travel. My mother, meanwhile, has a problem with degenerative discs in her spine, which means that she cannot carry heavy things and she is often in bed, in pain.
So guess who did a large share of childcare when she was growing up. Yup. Me. About four weeks after my sister was born my father was out of town and my mom was in bed. When my sister would start crying to be fed in the middle of the night, my mom would get me out of bed. How did she do this when she couldn't sit up? The telephone. She would call me.
I talked on the phone so much when I was a teen that my parents put a second line into the house, which ran straight into my bedroom (kids didn't have cell phones back then). I thought this was super cool. Until my sister was born. So it would run like this:
Me: [snoring]
RRRINGGGG!!!
Me: Unghngh, hellow?
Mother: Mallllllllll - eeeeee - naaaaaaaaaa. I need you to do me a favor. Could you get up and make a bottle? And feed your sister?
Me: What time is it?
Mother: Feeding time.
So I would drag myself out of bed, make the bottle and go sit in my mom's bedroom so she could oversee the feeding. ("Hold her head a little higher - that's right. Now you have to burp her.") It was an intensive on the job mothering training program.
I also had the dubious honor of toting my sister around, since my mother couldn't lift her (or a lot of items at the grocery store). I wore her in a sling, in a pouch that left her arms and legs free, and, eventually on my back in a backpack. (People used to come up to me and tell me I was a little wh*re and personally responsible for the downfall of America's morals, but that's another story for another day.)
I have the dubious honor of having been thrown up on repeatedly, peed on, and there was even an episode involving explosive diarrhea that I won't get into. She has also thrown up in my shoes twice and in my purse once. I see lots of blogs out there with moms complaining about the above. Imagine having to deal with it when you're a teenager. And you didn't even get any sex out of the deal. Yeah.
I don't really resent my parents for putting me through all this. They were doing the best they could with what they had. And now I know what it takes to raise a child. Intimately. So, the thing is, I feel like I've been there, got the vomited/pee/etc-stained-t-shirt and don't necessarily need to go there again. I recently met an older lady bemoaning the fact that her recently divorced 27 year old daughter had just moved back home. With three grandchildren. All under the age of 6. She shook her head and said, "I love them, but I already raised my share of children. I don't really want to do it again." Boy, could I ever relate.
But my husband is seriously obsessed with babies. He keeps asking me if my biological clock is ticking yet (his mother confirms he was definitely born male). All this talk about children made me wonder what was up with him. Why do people decide to have children anyway? Maybe I'm missing something. I had to laugh at the comments to this blog post. There are a lot of people out there who vehemently maintain that having children is SO TOTALLY WORTH IT. I don't disagree, I love my sister very much, I have lots of war (and embarrassing!) stories to tell, and she is a wonderful person.
But I kind of feel like it's a zero-sum game. That is to say, kids bring a lot of pain and suffering and difficulty and expense to your life. And they also bring a lot of joy and happiness and pride and pleasure. So you're sort of back where you started before the pain and suffering.
Judging by the comments to that blog post, though, a lot of wanting to have children (if you're not a huge kid person) is due to some sort of biological drive. Which is good! It means that, at some point, my horomones will kick in and make me desperately feel like I need to reproduce. I certainly hope so. Because right now I literally wake up just about every morning and think "WOOHOO! NO BABY!!!"
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Why oh Why Did I Get Married?
Ok, so I've been working on this for a year now and here's what I've learned: I really hate being married. I don't think it's as much my husband as it is the institution. Well, maybe it's my husband too, to the extent that he's focused on the institution. I just hate all the emotional baggage and hidden expectations that go along with marriage, and by that I mean the expectations that each person has about what it means to be married.
Third parties also have expectations, interestingly. For example, we are apparently supposed to know where the other is at all times. If someone asks me where he is and I respond that I don't know, they look at me like I've suddenly sprouted a second head from my neck that is singing in Swahili. So, I've started making up answers (Oh, he's at a meeting, a golf tournament, home washing his hair...). I suppose he could be off shagging some other girl, but for some reason I'm not particularly worried about that. It's not for me to play his mommy and keep tabs on him, so long as he comes home at night.
The tougher expectations have been the intra-marriage ones - the things we expect from each other. I expect my husband to look around the house and, if something needs doing, to do it. That expectation hasn't really changed from when we were living together. If the trash needs to be taken out, take it out. If something needs to be put away, put it away! If we both do this, the house will be tidy. I can't do it all myself. Also, although I don't keep tabs on him, I do start to worry if he's not home by 10-11pm, so I'd like a courtesy call around that time to tell me where he is. That's about it.
His expectations have been less well defined. I'm not sure I even know what they all are, but I do know that his help with the laundry and the dishes have fallen off to the lowest levels in our four years of living together. I don't know if that's an expectation or not, but it definitely seems to be related to our getting married. He also has apparently designated himself CFO of our household. I have some investments that were given to me by my grandparents when I was young (and they were still alive) and I decided I wanted to sell them. He told me no.
Seriously, just "No." Um, sorry, but they're mine? You don't get to tell me "no" about anything, much less things that are my personal property. Then he started talking about capital gains and cost purchase basis and taxes and planning offsets and who knows. My position: my grandparents gave it to me and I should be able to sell it if I want. End of story. He would never think about it twice if we weren't married.
The other thing I dislike about being married are the titles. He really makes a point out of presenting me to everyone as his "Wife." Sometimes he forgets to tell them my name. Once, after a long silence, someone responded, "Well, nice to meet you, Wife." I hate feeling like I've been reduced to a label. Especially since I am much, much more than just a wife. But just using my name is enough for me - Malina. Ask me about my name sometime. It has a special history and I love telling people about it.
So, about now, you're going to say something like, "Have you talked to your husband about all this?" And I'll tell you no. Why? Because whenever I try to imagine that conversation ("Honey, I hate being married, but I think it's the institution, not you") it just doesn't end well. If it has not been made clear, sure, my husband makes me nuts sometimes, he does goofy or stupid things, he screws up. So do I. I forgive him for all that and I don't want to break up with him. I just don't want to be married.
Perhaps you're thinking what a terrible person I am, or you're shaking your head thinking that I'm the next divorce. Maybe both of those are true. But here's the thing: I don't think we'd be having these problems if we hadn't gotten married. And I was the idiot who WANTED to get married. He was perfectly happy before but I thought I was missing out on some amazing experience. My happily married friend keeps telling me that I'm trying to be too independent, that we need to combine our lives more and always think about the other person (so, I should have been thinking of him when I wanted to sell my property, instead of myself). But the truth is that I feel trapped and stifled in a relationship that didn't make me feel that way before.
Of course, I still get the "How's married life?" questions from people I don't know that well. And I tell them (with a great big smile on my face): "GREAT!"
Third parties also have expectations, interestingly. For example, we are apparently supposed to know where the other is at all times. If someone asks me where he is and I respond that I don't know, they look at me like I've suddenly sprouted a second head from my neck that is singing in Swahili. So, I've started making up answers (Oh, he's at a meeting, a golf tournament, home washing his hair...). I suppose he could be off shagging some other girl, but for some reason I'm not particularly worried about that. It's not for me to play his mommy and keep tabs on him, so long as he comes home at night.
The tougher expectations have been the intra-marriage ones - the things we expect from each other. I expect my husband to look around the house and, if something needs doing, to do it. That expectation hasn't really changed from when we were living together. If the trash needs to be taken out, take it out. If something needs to be put away, put it away! If we both do this, the house will be tidy. I can't do it all myself. Also, although I don't keep tabs on him, I do start to worry if he's not home by 10-11pm, so I'd like a courtesy call around that time to tell me where he is. That's about it.
His expectations have been less well defined. I'm not sure I even know what they all are, but I do know that his help with the laundry and the dishes have fallen off to the lowest levels in our four years of living together. I don't know if that's an expectation or not, but it definitely seems to be related to our getting married. He also has apparently designated himself CFO of our household. I have some investments that were given to me by my grandparents when I was young (and they were still alive) and I decided I wanted to sell them. He told me no.
Seriously, just "No." Um, sorry, but they're mine? You don't get to tell me "no" about anything, much less things that are my personal property. Then he started talking about capital gains and cost purchase basis and taxes and planning offsets and who knows. My position: my grandparents gave it to me and I should be able to sell it if I want. End of story. He would never think about it twice if we weren't married.
The other thing I dislike about being married are the titles. He really makes a point out of presenting me to everyone as his "Wife." Sometimes he forgets to tell them my name. Once, after a long silence, someone responded, "Well, nice to meet you, Wife." I hate feeling like I've been reduced to a label. Especially since I am much, much more than just a wife. But just using my name is enough for me - Malina. Ask me about my name sometime. It has a special history and I love telling people about it.
So, about now, you're going to say something like, "Have you talked to your husband about all this?" And I'll tell you no. Why? Because whenever I try to imagine that conversation ("Honey, I hate being married, but I think it's the institution, not you") it just doesn't end well. If it has not been made clear, sure, my husband makes me nuts sometimes, he does goofy or stupid things, he screws up. So do I. I forgive him for all that and I don't want to break up with him. I just don't want to be married.
Perhaps you're thinking what a terrible person I am, or you're shaking your head thinking that I'm the next divorce. Maybe both of those are true. But here's the thing: I don't think we'd be having these problems if we hadn't gotten married. And I was the idiot who WANTED to get married. He was perfectly happy before but I thought I was missing out on some amazing experience. My happily married friend keeps telling me that I'm trying to be too independent, that we need to combine our lives more and always think about the other person (so, I should have been thinking of him when I wanted to sell my property, instead of myself). But the truth is that I feel trapped and stifled in a relationship that didn't make me feel that way before.
Of course, I still get the "How's married life?" questions from people I don't know that well. And I tell them (with a great big smile on my face): "GREAT!"
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Parents be Good to Your Children
I am in the middle of getting ready for a trial that starts tomorrow. This means that I have been working 14-16 hour days, 7 days a week for the last couple of weeks. So, imagine my surprise and delight when I got an email from my grandmother this morning. But, of course, I have such a wonderfully dysfunctional family. This is what it said:
Malina,
I have found that you love to treat your mother and me very poorly. You seem to prefer your father and his ugly wife. She is not only ugly outside but inside as well. It has been nearly a year and I have yet to get a picture of your wedding. I now know that you do not plan to let me have one. I am tired of playing your ugly games. You send me the cheapest gift you can find at Christmas which is a small box of pears. I don't even like pears and they have spoiled both years you have sent them. You have become a constant liar like your father! That is the thanks we get for being the responsible ones. We were the ones (your mother and I) who stepped up to the plate and raised you. Your father was too busy running around with other women and he was not to be trusted with small children. He was not interested anyway. He grew up in a dysfunctional family. What is your excuse? Your friends in Delaware have noticed your disfunction and mentioned them to us when we were there for your wedding! It must be inherited. Thank God your sister has not been around your father most of her life.
Your Grandmother
Thanks, Grandma. I don't really know much about my parents' dysfunctional marriage and subsequent divorce. But I do know that the bit about my father not being around or being trusted is revisionist history. The most important thing, though, is that the above is the exact reason I prefer not to interact with my mother's side of the family. All they do is complain and criticize me. Talking to my dad and his ugly wife is so much less painful! They don't yell at me or accuse me of having bad genes. They just ask me how my life is going and tell me about theirs.
So I guess the moral of the story is.... do unto others as you would have done unto you.
Amen.
P.S. I don't care what she says, I LOVE Harry & David's Royal Riviera pears. MMMMMM. This year, I'm keeping hers for myself.
Malina,
I have found that you love to treat your mother and me very poorly. You seem to prefer your father and his ugly wife. She is not only ugly outside but inside as well. It has been nearly a year and I have yet to get a picture of your wedding. I now know that you do not plan to let me have one. I am tired of playing your ugly games. You send me the cheapest gift you can find at Christmas which is a small box of pears. I don't even like pears and they have spoiled both years you have sent them. You have become a constant liar like your father! That is the thanks we get for being the responsible ones. We were the ones (your mother and I) who stepped up to the plate and raised you. Your father was too busy running around with other women and he was not to be trusted with small children. He was not interested anyway. He grew up in a dysfunctional family. What is your excuse? Your friends in Delaware have noticed your disfunction and mentioned them to us when we were there for your wedding! It must be inherited. Thank God your sister has not been around your father most of her life.
Your Grandmother
Thanks, Grandma. I don't really know much about my parents' dysfunctional marriage and subsequent divorce. But I do know that the bit about my father not being around or being trusted is revisionist history. The most important thing, though, is that the above is the exact reason I prefer not to interact with my mother's side of the family. All they do is complain and criticize me. Talking to my dad and his ugly wife is so much less painful! They don't yell at me or accuse me of having bad genes. They just ask me how my life is going and tell me about theirs.
So I guess the moral of the story is.... do unto others as you would have done unto you.
Amen.
P.S. I don't care what she says, I LOVE Harry & David's Royal Riviera pears. MMMMMM. This year, I'm keeping hers for myself.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
They Look Like Big Strong Hands
I have been struck by a romantic partner on two different occasions. The first time, I was in college. I was young, fit and was a serious participant in martial arts. I don't even remember what the argument was about any more, but he suddenly strode over and slapped me across the head. I was stunned. And then he did it again. I was in a panic, all I wanted was for him to stop hitting me. So I just reacted. But I did not karate-chop him, I didn't kick him, I didn't flip him or engage in hand-to-hand combat. I grabbed his neck and dug my nails in. For some reason, this brought him to his knees.
My reaction to the whole matter was probably a little strange - I felt humiliated that I hadn't done something spectacular - kicked him in the face, punched him in the gut, flipped him over my shoulder into an arm lock. What I did was "girly."
Let me pause here to say that I have long considered myself to be a feminist, an outspoken advocate for equality for all women. Not only that, but I felt that I was a liberated woman who could protect herself from an attacker, someone who wouldn't take guff from an abusive relationship.
After the fight I called an abuse hotline and they told me we should go to counseling. I relayed this to the boyfriend. "No way," he told me, flatly. So you know what I did? Nothing. Not a thing. He never hit me again and we ended up dating for two two more years.
Fast forward ten years and now I'm married. I got into a crazy argument with my husband. He was acting erratically (we had been drinking) and I thought he was going to hurt one of my pets, so I shoved him. And he shoved me back. So I kicked him. And we ended up in a fight that involved him slapping me across the head twice very similarly to the fight I was in with that boyfriend ten years ago. He ended up with more bruises than me (actually, I didn't have any), but still.
I'm going to pause again and tell you that we're both highly educated, employed professionals. We travel and we give to charity and we try to be good members of society.
So did I divorce my husband? Insist that we go to counseling? No. A few days later, we promised not to hit each other anymore and we went on with our lives. So there it is. I essentially did NOTHING about it. And you know what? If he had really hurt me, I can honestly say that I'm not sure I would leave. Some kind of strong, empowered feminist, right?
The identity crisis I have suffered after getting married has been pretty hard on me and now I guess I don't even qualify as someone who stands up for herself anymore.
"Rockbiter: They look like big, good, strong hands, don't they? I always thought that's what they were. My little friends - the little man with his racing snail, the Nighthob, even the stupid bat - I couldn't hold on to them. The Nothing pulled them right out of my hands. I failed.
Atreyu: No, you didn't fail. I'm the one who failed. I was the one who was chosen to stop the Nothing. But I lost the Auryn. I can't find my luck dragon so I won't be able to get past the boundaries of Fantasia.
Rockbiter: Listen, the Nothing will be here any minute. I will just sit here and let it take me away too. They look like good, strong hands, don't they?"
-The Neverending Story (1984)
My reaction to the whole matter was probably a little strange - I felt humiliated that I hadn't done something spectacular - kicked him in the face, punched him in the gut, flipped him over my shoulder into an arm lock. What I did was "girly."
Let me pause here to say that I have long considered myself to be a feminist, an outspoken advocate for equality for all women. Not only that, but I felt that I was a liberated woman who could protect herself from an attacker, someone who wouldn't take guff from an abusive relationship.
After the fight I called an abuse hotline and they told me we should go to counseling. I relayed this to the boyfriend. "No way," he told me, flatly. So you know what I did? Nothing. Not a thing. He never hit me again and we ended up dating for two two more years.
Fast forward ten years and now I'm married. I got into a crazy argument with my husband. He was acting erratically (we had been drinking) and I thought he was going to hurt one of my pets, so I shoved him. And he shoved me back. So I kicked him. And we ended up in a fight that involved him slapping me across the head twice very similarly to the fight I was in with that boyfriend ten years ago. He ended up with more bruises than me (actually, I didn't have any), but still.
I'm going to pause again and tell you that we're both highly educated, employed professionals. We travel and we give to charity and we try to be good members of society.
So did I divorce my husband? Insist that we go to counseling? No. A few days later, we promised not to hit each other anymore and we went on with our lives. So there it is. I essentially did NOTHING about it. And you know what? If he had really hurt me, I can honestly say that I'm not sure I would leave. Some kind of strong, empowered feminist, right?
The identity crisis I have suffered after getting married has been pretty hard on me and now I guess I don't even qualify as someone who stands up for herself anymore.
"Rockbiter: They look like big, good, strong hands, don't they? I always thought that's what they were. My little friends - the little man with his racing snail, the Nighthob, even the stupid bat - I couldn't hold on to them. The Nothing pulled them right out of my hands. I failed.
Atreyu: No, you didn't fail. I'm the one who failed. I was the one who was chosen to stop the Nothing. But I lost the Auryn. I can't find my luck dragon so I won't be able to get past the boundaries of Fantasia.
Rockbiter: Listen, the Nothing will be here any minute. I will just sit here and let it take me away too. They look like good, strong hands, don't they?"
-The Neverending Story (1984)
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