I am simply incapable of yearning for a period in history when I would be deprived of any of the comforts with which I grew up.
Forget the big thing, antibiotics, long distance communication in real time, suffrage.
I would be miserable deprived of hair conditioner or fitted sheets or individually wrapped American cheese singles or bug spray or ice cubes.
(We live in a golden age, no?)
Anyway, I am in awe of the easy familiarity with which our ancestors dealt with other species and life and death in the Animal Kingdom.
Yes, Blanche, we have rats in the garage.
I shudder doing the wash, I shudder getting canned goods from the pantry, and I shudder at the smell of whatever has died in the wall.
Himself is made of sterner stuff, he is after all a hick.
The Silent Squeam.