Every now and then, D decides I am in need of a science lesson.
It's true that my knowledge of science is rudimentary, but I have managed to get along fine so far without knowing the difference between DNA and RNA and a mitochondria and a mai tai. However,
someone around here sees that as inadequate. Holding a PhD in microbiology is all well and good, but it shouldn't inconvenience your partner. Right?
Last weekend, D announced that it was "time for some science." We were lying in bed reading at the time. Out of nowhere the little professor had produced a notebook and a pen and he launched into genetics 101 -- DNA, RNA, bi-layered membranes, mitochondria & etc.
While some people think I'm fairly sharp, D holds no such illusions. He lectured me slowly and patiently, making cute little drawings of cells in his notebook. This is how it must have felt in "special ed," which was what we used to call classes for retarded students.
We are different in so many ways, D & I. And one is this: while D is trying fathom the secrets of the human genome (and possibly cure cancer to boot!), I am working with a bunch of crazy animators on a cartoon about talking gnomes!