From adolescence she’d contributed to her family’s income through the odd bit of part-time work.

to prepare rice and soup, and usually a bit of fish. In keeping with my expectations, she made for a completely ordinary wife who went about things without any distasteful frivolousness. As for women who were pretty, intelligent, strikingly sensual, the daughters of rich families-they would only ever have served to disrupt my carefully ordered existence. Ultimately, I settled for a job where I would be provided with a decent monthly salary in return for diligently carrying out my allotted tasks, at a company whose small size meant they would value my unremarkable skills.Īnd so it was only natural that I would marry the most run-of-the-mill woman in the world.

At school I chose to boss around those who were two or three years my junior, and with whom I could act the ringleader, rather than take my chances with those my own age, and later I chose which college to apply to based on my chances of obtaining a scholarship large enough for my needs. I’ve always inclined toward the middle course in life. The paunch that started appearing in my mid-twenties, my skinny legs and forearms that steadfastly refused to bulk up in spite of my best efforts, the inferiority complex I used to have about the size of my penis-I could rest assured that I wouldn’t have to fret about such things on her account. There was no need to affect intellectual leanings in order to win her over, or to worry that she might be comparing me to the preening men who pose in fashion catalogues, and she didn’t get worked up if I happened to be late for one of our meetings. The passive personality of this woman in whom I could detect neither freshness nor charm, or anything especially refined, suited me down to the ground. However, if there wasn’t any special attraction, nor did any particular drawbacks present themselves, and therefore there was no reason for the two of us not to get married. And that walk of hers-neither fast nor slow, striding nor mincing. As she came up to the table where I was waiting, I couldn’t help but notice her shoes-the plainest black shoes imaginable. Middling height bobbed hair neither long nor short jaundiced, sickly-looking skin somewhat prominent cheekbones her timid, sallow aspect told me all I needed to know. To be frank, the first time I met her I wasn’t even attracted to her. Before my wife turned vegetarian, I’d always thought of her as completely unremarkable in every way.

Deborah smith the vegetarian