We too often miss an essential fact about the biblical first couple: They’re in love.
The Wall Street Journal
It seems like only yesterday the whole freaking world revolved around me. Then God had to go and make that other . . . thing. Have to admit, she’s more attractive than the swarms of living creatures who were here when I arrived, especially the great sea monsters and the creeping things. I mean, I don’t mind creeping things, but they seem to freak the other thing out. That could come in handy someday if I want something from her. “Adam,” other thing might say, “there’s a creeping thing in here and I don’t want to squish it.” Could maybe trade her something for it.
My side hurts, like it gets whenever I have too many pomegranates. Don’t remember falling on my ribs, but God made me, he ought to be able to fix me.
Other Thing has really long hair, unlike me. I get mine cut once every two weeks–“little off the top, short back and sides,” I tell the angel on the end down at Sal’s Barber Shop. I need to look nice for the artists who are doing the illustrations for the book I’m going to be in. I hope someday people will read it and realize the important contribution I made to civilization and the lack thereof. Without me, before me, there was nobody–nothing! With me blazing the trail, you eventually get written language, war, bowling, pilates and frozen yogurt. Yes, there’s disco, but on the whole, I think it’s a good deal.
I’m starting to get a strange sensation whenever I see Other Thing. Face gets hot, stirring in loins. It makes me want to write a song or a poem. If there were any other guys around I’d be embarrassed but they’re not here yet, so maybe I’ll give it a try.
“WILD thing–you make my heart sing!”
Good start. Knock off for now, pick it up after lunch when I have more energy. It’s not like anybody else is going to come up with anything before I do. Maybe if she likes it she’ll come over to my place. Hope she doesn’t want to change the furnishings–I put a lot of thought into the wall-to-wall yak rug.
Tried song on Other Thing, she no like. Says not good to dance to, wants something . . . softer. What the hell, I spend all day running from T-Rexes, fighting Triceratops, I want to rock out when I come back to the cave.
Her hair smells nice though, so maybe I’ll try to . . . tone it down a bit. How about something like . . .
Feelings–whoa, whoa, whoa–feelings.
That pretty good. Maybe I’ll let my hair grow a little, show her I have more sensitive side. Anything to procreate!
New song went over a little better. We “snuggled.” She said it’s just as good as procreating if you really love someone.
Not sure I’m ready for “love” with Other Thing, but I don’t have a lot of choices. If we mated and had a daughter there’d be another woman around, but that might take some time. I don’t want to just “settle” for her–on the other hand, now that I know God took a rib from me to make her, I’m not sure I want to play the field.
Other Thing says “Call me Eve!” It’s a nice name, much better than Jo Anne or Augusta. I can imagine a day when those names will have disappeared from the face of Earth, to be replaced by Caitlin and Courtney. But that someday isn’t today.
God, what have I done? Couple of glasses of mead I have to go and tell Eve I love her!
Of all the stupid things to do. Now she wants to move in, take down my trophy hides and paintings of me hunting bison, switch to floral prints and chintz.
I’m afraid I’ve set off a chain reaction that will echo down through the millennia, as man is dogged by a question that will remain a mystery until the end of time:
What, exactly, is chintz?