Bokelskere.no

"Hey, cutie," he would call to her from the stairs, after not having looked her in the eye for two months. It was like being snowbound with someone's demented uncle: Should marriage be like that? She wasn't sure.

Although Kit and Rafe had met in the peace movement, marching, organizing, making no nukes signs, now they wanted to kill each other. They had become, also, a little pro-nuke.

Do I fight? I don't fight I just, well, OK: I ask a few questions from time to time. I ask, 'What the hell are you doing?' I ask 'Are you trying to asphyxiate your entire family?' I ask 'Did you hear me?' Then I ask, 'Did you hear me?' again. Then I ask, 'Are you deaf?' I also ask, 'What do you think a marriage is? I'm really just curious to know,' and also, 'Is this your idea of a well-ventilated place?' A simple interview, really.

Observing others go through them, he used to admire midlife crises, the courage and shamelessness and existential daring of them, but after he'd watched his own wife, a respectable nursery school teacher, produce and star in a full-blown one of her own, he found the sufferers of such crises not only self-indulgent but greedy and demented, and he wished them all weird unnatural deaths with various contraptions easily found in garages.