In our culture, many of us idealize love and quality time. We see it as some lofty cure-all for all of life’s problems and have this tendency to put love and quality time on a pedestal taller than Shaquille O'Neal standing on Yao Ming's shoulders.
Movies, and songs…they all celebrate it as life’s ultimate goal, the final solution for all of our pain and struggle.(Read Part 2) We treat it like the holy grail of existence, the magical potion that’ll cure all our woes quicker than you can say "Worcestershire”
PS: I don’t know anyone who can say or pronounce it properly.
And because we idealize it, I’m still talking bout love, not Worcestershire sauce, we end up overestimating its powers more than a rookie superhero trying to lift Thor's hammer. And as a result, our relationships pay a price.
But does love have a price?
Before you answer, let me point out a few things about love and money.
First, If money and material things make you believe you are better than others, you are right and rich.
Second, if you are poor, just remember that money can’t buy love, or quality time, but can buy a luxury yacht, and when was the last time you saw a rich person in his yacht being sad? Exactly!!
And third, because all things come in threes as in: what happens twice, happens three times, the third is the charm, or a threesome.
Love and quality time are like the peanut butter and jelly of relationships. We’re bombarded with this idea that if we just spend enough quality time with our partners, all our problems will vanish like a magician’s rabbit. But sometimes that quality time is less like a romantic dinner and more like a rescue mission.
We put love and quality time on this pedestal like they’re the superheroes of our lives. But sometimes, most of the time they’re more like sidekicks, they are there to support us through the chaos.
It turns out J has a knack for Spanish—or at least she’s a master pretender. Besides the usual suspects like "guacamole," "taco," or "quesadilla," she can bust out gems like "Papacito, no pantalones," and "gracias!” as I pulled out my pants in 0.1 seconds (World record). I wonder if she’s secretly dating a Mexican restaurant busboy. Anyways, back to quality time.
We all say we want more of it, but let's be honest, sometimes quality time means confronting the stinky truth about your partner’s feet. So, yesterday was quite the eye-opener with J or a nose opener I might say. Yep, yesterday I discovered that J’s feet have a smell that could rival blue cheese. And to top it off, she’s taken up burping like it’s an Olympic sport.
So, inspired by the NYPD’s motto, "If you see something, say something," I finally mustered up the courage to speak up.
ME: "What’s that smell?"
J: "What do you mean?"
ME: "That doesn’t smell good to me."
J (punches me in the chest, then smells her feet) You’re a liar!"
ME: "Maybe, but we’re not talking about me, we’re talking about your feet. Ouch, did you just punch me?"
J: "No, I stabbed you"
Me: Oh, much better!
Of course, I tried to ignore it. I attempted to brush it off, praying it would vanish into thin air, hoping it would magically disappear, but the only disappearing act was her car.
Perhaps it was the hypnotic allure of her feet perfume that had lulled me into a quality-time-induced nap on her lap. Consequently, I remained blissfully unaware of my buzzing cell phone, which was desperately trying to alert me to the impending towing of her vehicle.
Love and quality time, are the stuff dreams are made of... or so we’re led to believe. And don’t realize that quality time is dealing with the aftermath of a towed car. The truth is, I overestimated her.
“This is quality time” (her words not mine)
So, there you have it, the price of love and quality time: $293!!!
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