I am talking from example. I was called to a house (by mistake) by my taxi dispatcher one day. I knocked and peered through the front window. He was reading the paper, and she was knitting. Not a words spoken betwixt the two. In fact, you could cut boredom and dullness in the air, it was as thick as smoke in a western-movie set in a Hollywood studio.

Finally he looked up. He looked at the wall clock, then at his wrist watch. I watched his lips utter, “who on earth could this be, Julia? at this hour. It’s nearly eight o’clock in the evening.”

He mosied to the front door, opened it, with the paper still in his other hands. I stated my case (that I not for a moment consider it a fact that he called me, my dispatcher may have had one of those “call it hunches, Sanches, and don’t forget the sandwiches” ” or “call it a gut-feeling” calls by divine inspiration that you might need a cab), and he looked at me, as if I were a watch, and said, “I have a car. If I want to go somewhere, why on earth would I hire a taxi?” The very idea of “fun” or “a night on the town filled with laughter, craziness and romance” would have fatally overuninundated his mind. He never conceptualized why people would need a taxi — this was the first episode in his life that he was forced to face this challenge to generate for himself hitherto unconsidered inner, mental models of alternative lifestyles. (* Alternative to his personal reality, not as “gay”, or “SM/DB”, “role-playing”, etc.) His car was by all likelihood well maintained, oil changes on schedule, liquids levelled, lubricants applied gleefully, and the whole thing reeked of two dull people finding absolute true happiness in each other’s lives, and forming a holy communion, with three children fruited, despite having marital relationships altogether twice in their 30-year-long marriage.