For years when Bacall forgets to do something like bring me a cup of hot tea or give me an enthusiastic back rub, I say “My next wife will do so-and-so”. Then I start listing the things my next wife will have to enjoy doing. It’s a long list and after enumerating the qualities for a few seconds, I redirect my mind to more productive endeavors. Bacall, in spite of her blemishes, simply can not be improved on. I am blessed.
For instance, how many women enjoy cooking and are good at it? That one attribute alone thins the prospective pool to a few thousand women at best. Bacall is near gourmet. While I can do a few things in the kitchen, and I don’t mean mac and cheese, she is excellent.
How about a spanking partner? One that enjoys switching? Now my prospects are down to less than dozen and I fear half of them look like Lady Gaga.
I think I will keep her around.