Sigma Relationship Issues

Demystifying the James Bond Cool

So… you know how James Bond in one of the earlier films is dancing with some woman he’s I think already bedded, and when an assassin tries to shoot him, he quickly spins her round so she gets killed and protects him from the bullet?

Pretty callous, right? But we can say with some clarity that she obviously was not the love of his life. Just another item on his plate. Not a particularly relevant one of course.

Well, now imagine being the woman married to that guy, even if we assume he really does love you. To say it has its challenges is probably understating it a little.

A recent conversation with the wife highlighted this…

But I should probably give a little background first —you know, just to stem somewhat the accusations of psychopathy and so on.

I don’t have a job that requires me to dress formally. Or even at all most days.

I have never cared at all what people assume, think or believe about me, to a degree that is probably hard for normal humans to relate to at all.

Efficiency, speed, and getting things done is more important than the how you do it for most things (but not all). Results matter more than methods, generally speaking.

So, when we go out, I can get the kids ready and in the car in about 15 minutes flat.

When my wife does it, time warps. It could be hours, days, moon phases can shift, who knows. So I try to stay out of the way until “near the end” which is a constantly moving horizon. Her “five minutes” can range from ten minutes to 45. Her “I just need to put my shoes on” can possibly entail getting prosthetics from Afghanistan.

And when at this point I am slowly starting to smoke (not cigarettes, rather, like the human torch, about to flame on) and am gently shoving kids towards the car, my wife will tend to say things like:

“Oh just a sec, I need to brush her/his/their hair!”

“Oh wait, she needs a different shirt.”

“Oh wait, his other shoes go better.”

Which drives me close to insane. Why?

Because I stayed out the way until now, you told me repeatedly we’d be done 10 minutes ago, and then you STILL have to do stuff?!

Now, I know this. I know this will happen, but it still irritates me.

Mostly because I have an (admittedly slightly pathological) issue with being late. On my own, in my life, I think I can count on one hand the times I have been late. Pointless? Sure. Unnecessary? Yeah, probably. Unreasonable given the way of the world? Undoubtedly. Ask me if I care about any of that? Fuck no. Because I don’t care if the rest of the world is composed by 99.999% of lazy, stupid fucks who can’t read a watch. I can. And I will continue to do so. Is that an irritating personality trait I have. No doubt. Do I mean to change it? Hasn’t happened yet. Not likely to happen very soon would be my guess.

Our conversation today was her basically telling me how frustrating and upsetting *I* am. This is more or less how it went:

Wife: “Why do you have to stress me out that way?”

Me: “ Because you had all the time and then it’s “just one more thing” about 15 times in a row. It’s like nagging.”

Wife: “What?!?! But you like me to look good when we go out, right?”

Me: “Sure.”

Wife: “And yet, you sometimes go out with your balls hanging out of your ripped trousers!” (Slight exaggeration. I always have underwear on, balls per se not on display gratis!)

Me: “So?”

Wife: “ And what does that make us look like?!”

Me: “Name ONE TIME I left the house with you looking like a homeless tramp.”

Wife: “You do it all the time!”

Me: “No. listen to what I said: “with you””

Wife: (fuming - Grunts acknowledgement) “Still, so it’s ok for me to go out looking like a homeless tramp if I go out on my own?”

Me: “No.”

Wife: “Oh but it’s ok if you do it??”

Me: “Yes.”

Wife: “Why?!”

Me: “You need to ask? I’m a man. It doesn’t matter what I wear or if I even have clothes on. I went through the village in pyjamas pants looking for the bastard that stole the kids’ walkie talkie, I went to pick up cement, shovels, whatever with ripped dirt-covered clothing, and I can stroll through the village in my underwear too if I’m busy doing some random shit that requires it or I don’t want to waste time getting dressed up while I am still busy unblocking a drain or whatever. And NO ONE will think anything about it. And if they do, the next time they see me out with you guys they will realise, oh ok, he is not a homeless tramp, just occasionally goes out like one when he has other shit to do. You’re a woman. None of those rules apply to you.”

Wife: “ Ok fine, fair point, but you take the kids out looking like whatever!”

Me: “So? They are little kids. No one cares, and I certainly don’t care what anyone else thinks either.”

Wife: “So, you want me to look good, nails all done and everything, but the kids look like tramps?! Do you KNOW WHAT THAT LOOKS LIKE?”

And well… then I got it.

Me: “Oh… yeah…” And I burst out laughing. “Yeah, you’re right, it would look like you’re a superficial bitch that doesn’t give a shit about her kids. Sorry. You’re right. Won’t happen again.”

And it won’t.

And yes, it is basically a retarded perspective I have, because honest to God, that thought had never entered my head before that moment. When I go out with the savages I have for kids, I don’t really care if they are not looking like little GQ models. They tend to tear themselves and their clothes up every chance they get anyway, and I’m fine with that. The last thing I want is a bunch of over-civilised artefacts of so-called “civilised” society for my children. I want them to grow up knowing what matters and what doesn’t. And then —much later— learning that thin veneer of etiquette required to stay out of jail and blend in with the empty shells of so-called “polite society”, but never be fooled into thinking any of that stuff really matters intrinsically. It may matter for your job, appearances, etc, but it’s not where your heart should ever be.

But of course, she’s right. Total neglect an unconcern for society as a whole is probably not the ideal way to go through life. Not that I’d know. But humans are pretty weak and fragile and I guess that way of being is not for most of them, and in any case, it’s probably a good thing for the kids to learn to at least have the basics of blending in with the rest of the human race. Because let’s face it, just 1% of my DNA in them is plenty to ensure that they will never really bow to authority outside of our house.

The point is, as obvious as her concern was/is to pretty much everyone who is not so dissociated from “society” as I am, it literally had never entered my head. I’m not stupid (quite the contrary) but it appears that somehow, in my 55 years here, I have so done away with the pointless things of life that I am probably straying quite deeply into territory that may have been okay in cave-times, or possibly crusading war parties, but might just be a little “lacking” in modern society.

I still think that’s for the best really, but the kids will have the “homeless fashion-chic” look only if I go out on my own with them from now on. I’ll think of it as training for them to learn to blend in with the zombies when we go out in public all together.

Now… if only I could get them to stop dropping trousers and doing their toilet wherever a convenient tree is, instead of asking to use the nearby facilities, I might actually have a chance at them not being hunted like animals once the 15 minute cities start going up, and before they have all retreated to the armed camps in the mountains.