Speaking of machines… one of the toughest concessions I made due to marriage was choosing automotive practicality over preference. I’ve always been a utility or sports vehicle guy. But there’s nothing remotely sporty about the white, under-powered 1980 Oldsmobile Cutlass I drove with gritted teeth during the halcyon years of married life. The idiot who eventually stole it removed a huge albatross from my pack-animal neck.
Being a family guy, as many of you I’m sure know well, means ego sacrifices. So many over time that a husband/father begins to feel like a component in a machine. A critical one, sure, but a component nonetheless.