Parallel Universe

Physicists (string theorists to be precise) now posit that the universe has many dimensions and that possibly there are an infinite number of other universes. This excites me on many levels.

It means in one of those universes Charlize Theron IS returning my messages and does want to share an elephant with me on an African safari. In at least one of those universes I never have to play Shake Your Sillies Out on the piano. Or maybe just a couple of times instead of four thousand times. In one of those dimensions I am NOT growing more hair in my ears than on my head. Never lose hope because there is always a universe where things are working out very nicely. However, finding that particular universe is slightly easier than finding any particular item in my wife's purse. And if you live in Toronto, public transit does not go to that universe. And if it did, it would be extremely crowded.

I am amazed how my relationship with Newman parallels my relationship with my wife. Especially in the anger department, which is a very large and successful department. Let's call it an Anger department store, it's so big.

When I get mad at Newman there is now a glint of hope that he understands something is not right. If I were to put what Newman was thinking into words, it would be something like, "Hey man, I get it. You're mad. You really don't have to yell any louder. I'm a dog and I have excellent hearing. Save your voice for the shower, Mr. rock star. I have no idea what you're mad at. I don't speak that nonsense of yours. But I'm sorry, okay? I'm reallllly sorry. See my ears? They're drooping, okay? Were your two most valuable assets ripped out by a doctor? I live with that every day. I pray you know that pain. Now throw the damn ball".

This is exactly where I am with my wife. I know I'm in trouble and I can move my ears down just like Newman. The next step, for Newman and I, is figuring out what the particular issue is. Until then, we just keep chasing the ball.

There is one hitch, though. It's really hard for me to remain mad at Newman because he's so damn cute. It would be so much easier if he had some grotesque flesh eating disease that consumed his face and he went around saying, "I am not a man. I am an animal. I am a dog".

No such luck. His is the face that launches a thousand tennis balls. I wish my wife felt the same way about me.