After a protracted period of observation and reflection, I have come to the conclusion that crunchiness doesn’t just happen, it doesn’t occur in a vacuum, it doesn’t just ‘manifest’ all on its own. No, crunchiness is contracted.
Like a virus.
You could probably argue that crunchiness IS a virus, but then that sounds kinda negative…my wife would probably frown upon that.
See? So we’ll just go with ‘like a virus.’
I have attempted to trace back where exactly my wife first ‘contracted’ crunchiness, but have been unable to nail it down exactly. As I mention in post No. 1, the period of time one’s wife is most vulnerable to the onset of crunchy symptoms is between conception of your firstborn and their first few years of life, like up until about school-age.
And I cap it at that point because if you get to where your kid is off to school in a very yellow bus and your wife has yet to have mentioned homeschooling or some weird private school where they learn to bow-hunt with arrows they made themselves, using feathers from birds that they raised from eggs in hutches, well then I’d say you’re pretty safe.
It’s going to be all McDonald’s and red-red frosting for you my friend.
But for more and more of us it’s “We’re having a baby and we need to rethink the WiFi because it’s emitting signals that will affect their pre-natal development” and “I only have seven and half months to knit these diapers so you need to grab a pair of needles and lend a hand” and “the government repressed this documentary on artificial sweeteners but I scored us a copy on a thumb drive at a truck stop in Flagstaff.”
You get the idea.
For my wife, I think it was between the decision to ‘invest’ in (used) cloth diapers and watching Food, Inc on Netflix. Somewhere in there…a line was crossed.
And yes there were some other, more personal influences, contact with people who were already carriers of the ‘crunchy virus.’ People who infected my wife, unknowingly or with great intention.
But in the larger scheme of things, it doesn’t really matter HOW it happened. What bears much more worldly significance is what happens when a person like my wife contracts an idea like crunchiness.
You see, my wife is like that person in that book Tipping Point, the one with the match on the cover? The author writes about these different types of people, influencers and whatnot, and my wife is one of those, a ‘Maven’ I think it’s called. It means she connects people and ideas, which means that when she latches onto something, it gets spread.
My wife is a VECTOR for the crunchy virus.
She’s the businessman who flies to Hong Kong, picks up some deadly foreign pathogen, and then hop, skip, jumps his way through every major airport over the next few days, touching doorknobs, coughing on people, and finally throwing up blood in a restaurant, infecting dozens in each country, who in turn infect hundreds, who infect thousands, and pretty soon we have that Zombie Apocalypse that we’re all jonesing for.
My wife is that businessman, and her business is spreading crunchiness.
WIFE: “You’re not helping.”
I know, I’m complicit in this too.
And no, I’m not the guy who lives near enough to her that somehow I’m immune and that my blood has the cure to save the world.
Thought that would be cool.
No, my role is more of the the guy in the movie that somehow survives just long enough to record what happened, for posterity…like in the original Cloverfield movie, or those kids in The Blair Witch Project.
YOU: “Ugh, but don’t they all die horribly?…”
EASY there with the spoilers! I’m not going to confirm or deny that they all die in the end, but…
NEXT WEEK, ON THE CRUNCHY DUNGEON: