My wife is fond of flags. I am not. — My wife is fond of fast food.
I am not. My wife is particularly fond of the Wendy’s Baconator. I argue that it’s less expensive to order a Dave’s Double with a side of bacon, then put your own pretzels on top.
(I’m fond of the Rold Gold Tiny Twists Original.) That way, the pretzels stay crunchy. Because my wife and I own our Virginia home jointly, she is entitled to her order.
It was my wife who refused to tip the delivery driver last week when her burger arrived soggy, and who wrote, “You want a tip? Here’s one: go back to your own country,” on his DoorDash page. It had nothing to do with me. My wife is fond of private jets.
I am not. It was my wife who accepted a free flight on a Gulfstream G200 to Aspen, Colorado, for an all-expenses-paid weekend with oil-industry lobbyists. I occupied the seat next to my wife, because it would have been empty otherwise.
While flying, I was offered a package of cashews “dusted with truffle salt” and, not wanting to appear churlish, I accepted. In Aspen, I occupied the left side of the king-size bed in the Presidential suite of the Four Seasons, which also would have been empty otherwise. My wife is fond of luxury hotels and eight-hundred-thread-count sheets, which I find excessive.
That is her right as a private citizen. My wife is fond of Timothée Chalamet. I am not.
While I find him beautiful, I don’t find him attractive, if that makes sense. My wife was solely responsible for.
