Foreword, Afterword, Now

You're lying in bed on a Sunday morning, and your husband is giving you an unconvincing massage because he hopes afterward you'll consent to sex. You'd like to loose some of the knots in your neck from the week's mad rush, but your precocious ten year old is sitting next to your right ear reeling of an endless list of facts and figures about cars in an unstoppable stream of cylinder sizes and horse power and torque and kilowatts and recommended prices and he's just moving onto a detailed comparison between the Honda 'Odiousy' and the 'Folkswagon' beetle and needs to know which one you'd choose if you could afford either and you'd prefer not to answer but both he and you are drowned out by your eight year old who rattles a box of marbles so as to drown out his older brother's recitation and there you lie in the din as your husband hits a bone that's excruciatingly sore...

you're in hell

You're lying in bed on a Sunday morning, and your husband is giving you an unconvincing massage because he hopes afterward you'll consent to sex. You'd like to loose some of the knots in your neck from the week's mad rush, but your precocious ten year old is sitting next to your right ear reeling of an endless list of facts and figures about cars in an unstoppable stream of cylinder sizes and horse power and torque and kilowatts and recommended prices and he's just moving onto a detailed comparison between the Honda 'Odiousy' and the 'Folkswagon' beetle and needs to know which one you'd choose if you could afford either and you'd prefer not to answer but both he and you are drowned out by your eight year old who rattles a box of marbles so as to drown out his older brother's recitation and there you lie in the din when a great wave of laughter arises in you like a bubble rushing its way to the surface and you surrender to the giggles and your husband catches it and then the boys and you're all shaking and shuddering in recognition that this is as G-d as it gets...

you're in heaven.