Goddess of the Week: Parvati

Image via WikipediaToday is my anniversary. Alas, my husband is 3,000 miles away on business, but I'm giving him a goddess because that's a present we can afford! I'm giving him Parvati, the Hindu goddess of marriage.

Parvati was created to be the consort of Shiva. Unfortunately, Shiva wasn't too into her, but Parvati was a determined goddess and did her best to win him over. She cooked for him. She did his laundry. She darned his socks. She cleaned his house and never made him vacuum or do the dishes. She even cleaned the rain gutters and learned basic plumbing so that he never needed to waste money on a plumber.

Alas, Shiva was still not interested because he had become a cave dwelling ascetic who renounced all pleasure and existed off, like, one grain of rice every six weeks. So, Parvati decided to cultivate a shared interest and became an ascetic herself. She moved into a cave. She dressed in black and read depressing novels and ate one grain of rice every three months.

Shiva remained unimpressed. Parvati decided she would woo him with her beauty. She went for a total physical transformation. She had the gods turn her skin gold, lost twenty pounds, and had a boob job.

Finally, Shiva noticed! He thought she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen and married her.

Well, my dear Steve, here's to you! You may not have Parvati. I don't really clean much. I have no home maintenance skills. I'm a so-so cook. Let's face it, I'm a bit too selfish to cultivate shared interests. (Bob Dylan? I'm sorry. He sounds like he has a painful sinus infection.) And damn it all to hell, if I'm not losing twenty pounds for me, why would I lose them for anyone else?

BUT Too bad for you! You knew what you were getting when you signed up, and there's no backing out now. I have one goal in life: That's to die before you. I will do that if it kills me.

But enough about death, here's to our life together: I promise to love you and cherish you, to only go crazy when you can be sane, to never again sneak oatmeal into meatballs, laugh at your sun hat, or stick a loud clock up to year ear when you are sleeping. I promise to save you a piece of cheesecake and to, at least occasionally, maybe on holidays, let you choose what to watch on TV (except for local news; don't even try it).

Happy anniversary, my love, from your devoted (in a totally feminist and not self-denying sort of way) wife,

Margaret

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