When the two of you first met the gauge probably was preset to maximize positive pay-off from fondly fondling, compliantly pliant, curvacious contours and firm, solid muscles forged in the great outdoors. Later, perhaps, the meter was set to meet—or beat and repeat: "Meet'er at least half way! And treat 'er as the wonderful treat that she is."
It's entirely meet (i.e. fitting and proper) that you fair ones meet him (come into reasonable conformity with his views, wishes and opinions the same way) unless, of course, if bad comes to worse and all concerned agree that—brutally, frankly speaking—he's a hopeless deadbeat.
What does the indicator register now on a scale ranging from tedious to delirious? Are efforts to establish a happy medium capricious or serious? Are there wild swings from one extreme to the other? Are attempts to calibrate dissidences and differences tabulated on a fine or a coarse, a mature or an immature, an agreeably or an acridly codified sensitivity grid?
Are the partners dead set on achieving sensible equality or set dead on or off-center or, perchance, somewhere in between? A quotidian, but critical, cautionary behest to men: Never come between her and her chocolate.
As life's time-clock ticks away, may the ticks ticket each of us with awareness of the need for improvements in ourselves and our relationships with others, so that as we grow old we will be as hale, hearty and happy as enunciated by the heartening lyrics and music of
Grandfather's Clock.
