The population of my town is comprised mostly of well-to-do Masters of the Universe. I live among the movers and the shakers. Since the only thing I move and shake is my cellulite, it's not clear to me how I fit in here. But here I am, nonetheless.
Neither my husband nor I qualify as Masters of the Universe. On our way to ruling the heavens we're stuck in the rungs of Jacob's ladder. And that's just fine, because between you and me, it's hard to find Masters of the Universe who aren't universal assholes.
Most nights my hubby and I share tales from the day: we are each other's favorite soap opera. The cast of characters rivals day time drama: psychos, sluts, philanderers, nerds, jocks, ingenues- they're all there. We have yet to encounter evil twins, but we live in hope.
As I've watched corporate plot lines unfold through the years, I have come to truly understand what it is my husband does for a living. I could certainly never do his job, but I do appreciate what it is he is does all day long.
Interestingly, many of my friends cannot say the same. Though they are married to Captains of Industry they have no idea what ships those Captains are sailing. As first mates they qualify little more than Gilligan, albeit without the goofy hat and with much better shoes. I'm not sure why, but that seems to be the trend.
I have to wonder what it is that I'm missing. Should we be discussing deep philosophical questions instead of Bob's recent promotion? Instead of office politics should we tend to livestock on Farmville?
I don't judge my friends who live in ignorance of their husband's profession. It's none of my business. But I would think that a Master of the Universe would have some pretty interesting things to say, since the fortunes of the world ride on his shoulders. As for me and my husband, our corporate endeavors will never impact the economy, but they bring us closer, and that's good enough for me.
