Tom Ramcigam (magicmarmot) wrote,
Tom Ramcigam
magicmarmot

I once had a girl. Or, should I say, she once had me. It was a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, and things have never really been the same since.

Y'see, I was once married (or marred, as I first typoed) to a fine lookin' lass who turned my head as well as a few other parts o' my anatomy. Unfortunately, it didn't take, and after a long number of years, I've lost track of where she's gone. And really in the scheme of things it doesn't really matter: it wouldn't change anything in my life if I did know.

And that sums up today's lesson in a nutshell. It's come back to me a lot recently, and I figured I'd pass it along: when the knowledge of something can't change the outcome, it isn't worth pursuing the knowledge. Or, in different terms, if two paths lead to the same destination, and one is easier than the other, then it's silly to take the harder one.

"But O Wise and Sage Marmot," I hear you say, "What of the old adage that it is the journey and not the destination that matters?"

Huh. I guess you got me there. Unless I were to say that in that case, the journey IS the destination. Yeah, put that in yer pipe and smoke it, butterball.

What I mean is that if the lessons that you learn on that journey are the important things, then the destination isn't your final point, but the point at which you learn those lessons or gain that experience. My point is more that if you need to get to the corner store to pick up a pot pie, it would be silly to set yourself on fire before you do it just so you can have the experience of the pain along the way.

Think this applies to you?

Jeebus, if you have to think about it, it probably does.

Besides, that whole "journey is more important" thing was written by someone who was disappointed by their destination. It's like that whole sour grapes thing, or knowing that it's the second mouse that gets the cheese.

"But O Wise and Sage Marmot," I hear you say, "What does this have to do with the ways of love?"

Well, think back to when you were a mere fledgeling, falling in love for the first time. It was cool, wasn't it? But weren't you just a little shit when things didn't go your way? When you had your heart broken for the first time and it hurt like hell, didn't that change the way that you approached relationships? Didn't you become a little mellower, a little more mature, a little kinder, a little more forgiving?

See, that's the cheese that the second mouse gets. First one through the grinder gets his heart ripped out, the second one gets a bit of used cheese spattered with the blood of another, but cheese is tastier than cold steel.

BTW, the analogy falls apart at the third mouse, because the second mouse is a greedy little bastard. Maybe the third mouse who misses out on the cheese figures that it's okay because he's lactose intolerant and he really didn't want to deal with the butt snot anyway.

And unfortunately, I am now the third mouse. It means that I'm tenederized, certainly, but that I have felt the bite of the steel bar on bits of my metaphorical anatomy more than once, and I am wary of the seductive aroma of l'fromage emanating from the dramatic foodplank over yonder. Metaphorically speaking. And this metaphor is beginning to suck big time, because I have just described the seductive powers of the fairer sex as the smell of cheese on a board, and that's really not gonna win me any points in the hot-babe department. So allow me to change horses in midstream and alight on a new metaphor.

Women are a lot like major appliances. They'll do your cooking and cleaning if you keep them adequately serviced.

Women are like cars: the really hot ones are fun to drive for a while, but they're way too expensive to maintain.

Women are like badly-wired personal computers: they don't recognize floppies

Aw, dammit. Time's up for now. I'll have to find something else to talk about next time.
Tags: relationshipship
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