Hyperspace, Shoes, and the Prime Directive

When it comes to space travel, we face a few challenges. Of them, the most daunting may be the vast distances that need to be traveled in order to boldly go where no one has gone before.

It may be that we’ll never be able to enter hyperspace with wookies by our side, or even without them.

Yes, we will invent androids, but they will probably learn to feel emotions when they discover that we haven’t invented galaxy class spaceships powered by warp engines.

Engage tear duct.

Unfortunately, it may be that there is just too much space for humans to explore distant galaxies.

I’m not a physicist. However, now that I live with my wife, I am grappling with problems related to space and time. For example, I just don’t think there’s enough space and time for all of my wife’s shoes.

Don’t forget about the clothes, which form a sort of geological strata that we could use to study climate change.

Don’t forget about the dogs.

Don’t forget about the feline overlords.

Full disclosure: I own some things. Marrying me was not without its own fantastic door prizes, which include: a Mac, a Wii, a guitar, and even a few clothes to add to the strata.

I recently bought a bicycle, too.

And I really like some of my wife’s things, including the recliner, the couch, and our desk. My wonderful wife also kindly lets me use two dresser drawers — and even most of a closet in the office!

Still, I think it’s safe to say that 99% of the things in our house belong to my wife, which either makes me a total sponge or enlightened.

Probably the former.

Regardless, it’s gotten pretty tight in our home, and I’m worried that sooner or later we’re going to have throw something out.

It won’t be the cats.

It won’t be the shoes.

It could be me…

So I’ve been cleaning up.

I haven’t been throwing things out. I don’t have permission. I just rearrange the stacks so that they become more efficient. For example, I centralized all of the heels into one dangerously pointy heap.

For some reason, my wife does not approve of this ordered way of life.

My latest venture into interior decorating was to convert our living room into a storage room. Actually, it was already a storage room. We were keeping our bicycles there. So really, I optimized our living room’s performance as a storage room. It looks awful, but we can fit a lot of stuff in there.

My wife was not impressed.

I told her that we haven’t lost the use of a living room because we’ve never sat in our living room. We spend most of our time in the office. The cats’ seat of power is the living room. And they love the new arrangement. Everyone wins.

Except me.

I’m in a lot of trouble.

Did I violate marriage’s equivalent of the Prime Directive?


2 Responses to “Hyperspace, Shoes, and the Prime Directive”

  1. So, you and your wife are the federation, and . . . the inanimate objects around your home are the civilizations without warp drive, only warp drive is practicality over aesthetics?

    My marriage has a different prime directive. I violate it when I don’t bring back a chocolate bar when I go to the grocery store.

    Also, I can emphathise with your reflections on shoes. My wife doesn’t have the amount of shoes prime time TV would suggest women should have, but she probably has more shoes per capita than any other item. Sometimes I have nightmares about what would happen if her will was loosed from financial restraints.

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