I stumbled across something innocently enough a few months ago in which appearances suggested that a rose was a rose. When I inquired about said rose, the man of the house assured me that it was, in fact, not a rose. Today I stumbled across what looks to be a rose — a rose of the same variety as the alleged rose of earlier days. Or so it appears. I inquired about said rose, resulting in anger directed toward me for snooping and not minding my own business, and the reiteration that the rose is, in fact, and as clearly stated before, not a rose. It has been explained to me that this rose is not a rose, but it has not been shown or proven. Words of assurance were the sum of the offering of explanation in the initial confrontation. I accepted these words the first time, but this rose upon which I’ve stumbled today requires a more complete explanation. Because it looks like a rose. It smells like a rose. It feels like a rose. I am having a difficult time understanding how it can be anything other than a rose.
The thing is, without a valid explanation, it looks like a lie, and I can’t tolerate a lie, if that is what it is. I’m not an idiot and I generally have an exceptional capacity for grasping things (except jokes), so the explanation that the rose is not a rose must be improved upon, in order to put me at ease. I don’t want a marriage in which secrets are kept and lies are fostered, and I think that I am justified in wanting a valid explanation.
He, however, thinks I am being unreasonable, and sees no need to explain things any further. So here I am, gashed and bleeding from the prickly thorns of the rose that is not a rose. But how could I be gashed and bleeding, if there is indeed no rose It must all be a figment of my imagination.
Update. All’s well that end’s well. It has been explained that an omission can have the appearance of a lie, and it’s therefore of utmost importance to be upfront, forthcoming, and not vague in certain matters. That is, if one doesn’t want one’s partner to explode.
Miscellania Says:
