TOD 01.31.08

My wife prefers the club on her car put on in a particular way which I find highly inconvenient, but I do it whenever I drive her car. My wife thinks that soap is a magic fairy dust that cleans in ways mere water cannot, so anything she might use gets washed with suds. My wife particularly dislikes it when the magnetized latches on the entertainment center doors are not fully pressed in, so I always try to do so.

My wife thinks that toothpaste and gel might somehow become dangerous edibles for our children, so I dutifully place them underneath the sink behind a safety lock on the door. And my wife worries that we might accidentally burn down our apartment complex by leaving a stove burner on, so I often go back inside to double-check that is not the case.

Why do I do all these things? Because that’s what submission means; deferring to the judgment of another when you think it’s batty. And not just when the person is watching, like slowing down when you see a cop, but precisely when she is not. Honoring someone else’s will only when you would get caught for not doing so isn’t submission at all. It’s the preamble to adultery, among other things.