No meat in the spaghetti sauce, an aversion to spices in general, a crinkled up nose at the mere sight of ketchup, these are all things that can be easily forgiven.
A radio in the car that is never on, no CDs in her possession at all, not being able to quote liberally from O’ Brother Where Art Thou, knowing there is such a thing as the Soap Opera Channel, for watching Dancing With The Stars, for not acknowledging that Jennifer Gardner is perhaps the finest screen actress of our generation, these are all things that can be easily forgiven.
For being a democrat…..wait…I’m thinking….reluctantly, yes, this too is something that can easily forgiven.
Putting my son in his new Hawaiian shirt from Barbados for his spring pictures with a long sleeve shirt underneath, this you see, this is not something that can be forgiven. No indeed.
You don’t wear Under Armor under a strapless Versace. You don’t paint a mustache on the Mona Lisa. You don’t tell Bobby Flay that his dish needs a little salt. And for the love of all things holy, you never, ever put anything under a Hawaiian shirt.
Custom now dictates that the shirt must be destroyed, sacrificed to fire while lotus blossoms and shards of brightly colored rayon are sprinkled upon the ashes. I know not if I have the strength to perform my sacred duty.
This grievous offense has cast our beautiful relationship in doubt. I cannot look upon you the same. You are a stranger to me. Who are you woman and what have you done with my wife? Away with you, banished you are. Vexed and offended, confused and amazed, hurt and vengeful…this is the mantle thrust upon me by this blunder of epic proportions.
It weighs heavy upon me, gentle readers……
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