Issue No. 2, Marriage - Saturday with the Nibbs

Saturday morning, Mr. Nibbs was in his armchair gathering information. Not a wise man, Mr. Nibbs, but nevertheless a man who knew a great deal of information. Most people, including the wise, are content not to know most things. They do not know, say, the physical stats of every unborn child born in the last quarter century, or which relics were ransacked in the second tier of the Christian Crusades; and their not knowing does not impede them from enjoying the basic pleasures of life--say, a bleedless-gum tooth-brushing session. Untrue for Mr. Nibbs. He knew what happened if it happened.

Mrs. Nibbs was returning home from the mall that same Saturday morning. The mall is an unhappy place for Mrs. Nibbs. It seems that no matter what length she goes to prevent a shoelace or a dress hem from entering the gears of the escalator, something creeps in and ruins her day. For Saturday’s outing she took the extra measure of buying Velcro shoes and that seemed to do the trick. She even ran up the escalator, showing no consideration to the women and children who happened to be in her way since, as she reasoned, the less time spent on the infernal invention the less chance there was for embarrassment. But she ran up the down escalator. Once she reconciled the disparity between the distance of her object and the exhaustion of her legs, she simply stopped, filled her face with blood, and rode down.

Mr. and Mrs. Nibbs took a walk together in the afternoon, after Mrs. Nibbs had calmed down over an Edy’s lunch and Mr. Nibbs had finished the Britannica B’s. Mr. Nibbs had heard of a lodge a couple of local beavers were building and since he had spent much of the morning admiring the crepuscular habits of the aquatic mammals, he decided that Saturday was as good a day as any to walk with the wife down to the lake and see the new digs. “It’s very impressive,” said Mrs. Nibbs. “Fine craftsmanship,” said Mr. Nibbs, “although two more weeks of fine craftsmanship and there won’t be any forest around here, just a big beaver mansion.” “Is that so bad? I’m happy for them.”

Looking over the lodge, both Nibbs were filled with images of beaver china and beaver furniture, both entertained the desire to attend a beaver luncheon at the beaver home, though both were too embarrassed to admit it to one another. They walked silently back to their own home where it was already getting to be time to tidy up the kitchen and read the Evening Post, to prepare dinner.