Okay, so I'm no saint. I do think, however, I'm playing with a full deck. My wife, however, is no help to my sanity. She's a librarian. When we were engaged, her being a librarian-in-training was fine. Admittedly, I didn't know exactly what that meant. I had been in libraries before, and the librarians seemed like everyone else. Instead of filling potholes, they were loaning books to total strangers. (In hindsight, that should have tipped me off.) Remember the first thing you were taught about libraries? You were probably told to be quiet in a library--so you won't disturb your neighbor. Well, librarians follow that rule outside the library, too. For instance, when I want to watch television or listen to music, I have to use headphones. In my own house! We own a cat. They're rather quiet. Plus, when they do make noise, it's usually a pleasant meow or a soothing purr. So we have a cat. No dogs. Oh no, they're too loud. And she's even extended this outside the house. You should have seen her veins when the neighbor's dog was barking at a squirrel one day. Wow, was she upset. She ended up going over and giving the dog's owner the shushing of his life. (I, personally, got reprimanded for laughing too loud.)

Our house is an organized house. While that is usually good, it can go to extremes. I don't think I have to tell you that the bookshelves are sectioned by fiction, non-fiction, and periodicals. It also might not surprise you that our audiovisual items are sectioned off by videotapes, audiocassettes, and CDs. What might surprise you is that, after a year of marriage, I still can't remember sweat socks are under "sweat," "white," or "athletic." (Personally, I don't think the Dewey Decimal guy would know, either.)

That's not the worst of it, though. I can't use three rooms in the house I'm helping pay the mortgage on. All three have "Library Personnel ONLY" signs on them. Well, I suppose I'm exaggerating--I am allowed to go in to empty the waste receptacles. I should be more considerate.

There is another thing which was fun at first but has gotten tiring. We never eat in. We always go out for dinner because she doesn't allow food near the "literary resources." I mean, I can see her point--we need to preserve our assets--but I can also see she's flipped her lid.

Services are provided me that, perhaps, most other husbands don't get. For instance, when we furnished our house she made sure certain items were multi-purpose. That is why we have a kitchen table that easily converts into a reference desk. Now, whenever I need to find something, I have to go to the reference desk/table. (I haven't been to figure out how "literature search" applies to helping me find my other shoe.)

It's not cheap living in my house. Aside from the normal bills (gas, mortgage, electric, etc.), there tend to be a few too many fees for my taste. If I write a letter to a friend or relative, the first piece of paper is free, but each one after that costs five cents. Plus, if I want to read a book, I have to check it out at the kitchen table/reference desk/circulation desk. If I want to listen to music, I have to check the CD out. If I want to watch a video, I have to check that out, also. You know how embarrassing it is to have to check it out....when you own it? So, in protest, I never return anything on time. Sure, I've got 75 dollars in overdue fees, but it's the principle of the thing! Adding insult to financial injury, I never get paid for helping her. For instance, I can't tell you how many times she's 'interlibrary loaned" me to one of her friends who's doing a home improvement project. But have I ever been reimbursed? Nope. Never. Of course, I've learned not to complain. Whenever I do, she threatens me with revoked library privileges or slaps my hand with a ruler. (Apparently, she confuses herself with a school marm or something.) But I do get my revenge. Every once in a while I'll "accidentally" spill something in a book. Of course, since I'm the only patron in the library, she can easily figure out who the culprit is. So I have to contaminate the books she doesn't read: which tend to be mine. Sure, she doesn't know what I did, and, sure, I know I'm destroying my own property. But, the message is loud and clear. It sounds like I want a divorce. It sounds like I'm going insane. But I don't, and I'm not. My life is fine by me. I only tell you this for one reason: so I can give you some advice. Don't marry a Librarian!

© 1996, 2001, Mark Wentz