My Man's Evolvin'

First, let me say that I consider my husband to be a Renaissance Man.  He has it all:  he's athletic, intelligent, the funniest person I know and even does the laundry.  I have it good.  He taught his son to respect women and NEVER once in 26 years of marriage has asked me, "what's for dinner"?  Yes, I am a lucky woman.

I have had one complaint that I've held to my heart for many, many years.  While Steve is a great reader who loves The Great American Novel, he has held one prejudice to his heart:  the man won't read women authors!  For years, I've tried to introduce him to the likes of Willa Cather, Toni Morrison and George Eliot (never mind Jane Austen... I knew I wouldn't make any headway there).  I can't express how much this annoys me and how many arguments I've made over the years trying to expand this man's horizons.  I mean you're only missing out on the perceptions of slightly over half the worlds' population, but whatever.

So on Sunday afternoon between desperation and my nagging, Steve broke down and started Ethan Frome by Edith Wharton yesterday afternoon.  He finished it two sittings and pronounced it one of the best books he'd ever read and has talked of little else since he finished it.  Can Jane be far behind?  (okay, to be perfectly honest I don't know that I want to be married to a man who loves to read Austen... maybe I need some enlightenment myself!)

Nevertheless, I am vindicated.  Indeed, I am a lucky woman.