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At the end of his movie, Annie Hall, Woody Allen faces the camera and tells a joke about a man who goes to the doctor. Doc asks what’s wrong and the man says, “Oh, its not me. It’s my brother.”
“What’s wrong with your brother?” The Dr. asks.
“My brother thinks that he’s a chicken,” the man replies.
“Have you told him that’s he’s not a chicken?” The Dr. asks.
“Well I would,” the man says, “But we really need the eggs.”
That’s the joke. It’s about love. Turns out, we all really need the eggs.
I needed the eggs so bad in my youth that I did crazy things to get some. Of all the men around me looking at me thirstily, I always chose the one who said, “Not bad.”
Did I think that was safer? It was not.
The man I ended up with, so far, for the last 40 years or so also gave me heartache. Heartache is as much a part of love, I have found, as olive oil is to ratatouille. It might even be the basis because nobody, no matter how much you love them or they love you, is going to be there for you forever. That’s not part of the bargain.
The man I love now, this man, doesn’t understand me perfectly. He’s selfish. He’s lazy. He mispronounces names like Psaki and words like tarpaulin with temerity. I sometimes found his acting onstage to be nonspecific (I would never tell him this, it would deeply hurt him and he doesn’t know I saw) but the rest of it was dazzling, just like him.
He has hurt me in ways I didn’t think there was still a spot left to hurt. He has infuriated me, disappointed me, forgotten things that are really important to me, said and done stupid things, dared things like the ant trap and the recycling to empty itself fot many days..
But he has hung in. He has held, hugged, kissed, wiped away, every tear I showed him and some I did not. He has read, endlessly, picture books of dogs with our Grandson when even I would have quit and just turned on Ms. Rachel. He has held our sons to his heart and mind in the way his own parents never held him. And he holds on. He shows up. He stays here, by my side, whenever and however he can.
And when I wake up in the morning, and he is still there, and he thinks I am better than just “not bad”, I am very, very grateful, and I always will be, for the eggs..