Personal Essay: On the Care and Management of Women

Jerome K Jerome, who wrote Three Men in a Boat, has a series of essays in which he addresses several of life's enigma, the first of which is titled, On the Care and Management of Women. Near the end of On the Care and Management of Women, Jerome’s got this young hipster fellow, probably closer to 30 than 25 in a pickle. He’s charged with escorting a young lady, presumably 18 or under, from London to Paris in the summer. All along the trip they are mistaken, understandably because of their ages, the way they're dressed, and the season of the year, for newlyweds. The carriage driver who accompanies them along their journey leans in and nudges the boy’s bosom with a wink and says, “We have all been there.” 

The young buck is nearly offended, but because the cab driver’s intent was too ambiguous to nail down, he decides to let it slide, figures it’s just an allusion to the Isle of Wight which was their intended destination, an especially wonderful place for the time of year, which was currently summer.  

But then the guy, the driver, he says, “It’s all right in summer, and it’s good enough in winter -- while it lasts. You make the most of it, young ‘un;” and he slapped [him] on the back and laughed.” 

This, is a valuable statement, and one that I came to understand too late, and is my one true regret. I know what he means when he says, “You make the most of it.” There is real heroism in those couples who endure it all and remain together. Weathering all manner of storms, despair, hope, venom, and disdain for one another, and, through it all, coming out of it all as the physical manifestation of two people standing there, as just as well as one. Couples that question whether it was worth it, and provided no one was really hurt so much, then in their old age they may, with a softness behind all of it, look at the other and say yes, my dear, it has been worth it.  A good friend of mine calls it “Domestic Bliss,” I capitalized it and turned it into a proper noun, like Truth. But I failed at this. I gave up. 

But even so, you always wind up making the most of it. 

Jerome employs classic seasonal metaphors. So yeah, enjoy it kid, and go on and get yours, make the most of it while it’s still summer, but winter is coming and it’s everything you can do to make the most of it. The old cab driver is like the Ancient Mariner. The young ‘uns just want to find their seats, and get on with it, but not this dirty old bastard Mariner. He’s there for the long haul. He’ll pull your ear for the rest of the afternoon and into the night if you let him.

But, let us not rely solely upon the resources of one single scene of mistaken identity to discern our opinions on marriage. Another story Jerome tells in this same chapter, we see the narrator engaged in discourse on the topic of marriage and honeymoons, a very trusted ladyfriend. She, in response to the narrator’s question as to which kind of honeymoon is best, says that a long honeymoon is best. It’s a sure-fire way of shaking out all the flaws, spending so long a time wherein one is forced to think of only the other, look them straight in the face, indigestion and all, and see one another for what they really are. 

She goes on to tell of an ancient custom in which the newly wed couple is led into the bowels of the temple and left alone in the dark and depths to face the judgment of the Voice. The Voice tells them whether or not their choice is good and the next morning a priest leads them out of the deep and dark and into the day and people. She says, “And one day we meet them again, and their faces have grown older and graver; and I always wonder what the Voice has told them during that little while that they have been absent from our sight. But of course, it would not do to ask them. Nor would they answer truly if we did.” This presumes two things, that the news was bad, and no one speaks about it. The news, the being bad aspect looms ominously as there seems to be no indication of encountering a reenergized couple, a youthful and joyful-looking couple, we only see a sadly aging couple. As for not speaking about any of it to anyone is much like today. You can’t know what two people are going through, nor can you understand the love that exists between them. 

I once lived with a married-with-children couple in South Dakota, outside Pierre. We shared a big old Victorian house that had fallen into disrepair. They had two kids, a boy around 10 and a girl around 8. I worked with the dad for a construction contractor and between the two of us we were able to pay rent, share food and fuel costs, and get by ok. But they could fight. It seemed to me ridiculous that they were together. The kids lived in fear. One day I came home from work and I heard loud banging and screaming coming from their bedroom. The kids were in my room playing. When I walked into the bedroom I witnessed violence and tears and pulled him off his wife and when I asked if she was ok, she looked at me with true venom and spit warning if I ever come between her and her husband again it’ll be the last thing I do. I looked at her husband and he was sweating, smoking a cigarette with a slick grin across his face that told me this was too far away for me to conceive so I went, grabbed my bag of clothes and the few items of value I had and left their house never to see them again. 

This variety of couple is not uncommon. It’s not one I wish for myself, my wife, or ex-wife, or my children. So, that’s why mine dissolved. I loved her, I still do love her, and wish the best for her. She is the mother of my children and without her, I’d never have had what I have with my boys. 

This kind of couple is everywhere, but I do know it is possible to come out of the deep dark temple basement and be happy. I’ve seen happy marriages, at least as far as I can tell, and as I’ve said in the past, I’m no Sherlock Holmes in the matters of “things better off left unsaid.” 

In these marriages, I see that there is a selflessness involved. They put the needs of the family before their own. I’ve experienced this myself, briefly, but have never found it to last.