Tolkien Ruined My Marriage but I Don't Care

It's finally happened. I stood up for myself against the darkness that has seeped from the void.

Growing up, I never cared for fantasy. My father would scoff at my little brother reading while we were eating and would say "Books are a waste of time and memory. You think all that make believe will make you more smarter?". That was as close as I ever got to the topic of fantasy. Decades later, my wife and I would sit in front of the television every night after dinner. I never cared much for anything on albeit except for the news so I'd always watch whatever my wife wanted to view which was usually jeopardy followed by cooking shows but as time went on, I noticed she slowly took to reading in front of the television until eventually I saw that she didn't care what I changed the channel to. When I questioned her lack of interest, she answered by telling me that I could watch whatever I wanted.

I began flicking through the channels, my eyes baring the resemblance of a vagabond. Suddenly, the batteries in the remote ran out and left me stranded on a black screen. From the darkness appeared a title that said, "Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring". It was there that I would begin my indescribable journey into the world of Middle Earth.

As I witnessed 'The War of the Last Alliance' with Elrond leading the bountiful army of elves alongside men in the last attempt to stop the dark lord Sauron, I thought why has the world wronged me by not showing me this? As I observed the fellowship creation right before me, I thought This is the greatest thing I have ever seen. I can't wait to tell everyone at work about this. As the strongest bond ever depicted formed before my eyes, I realised that my life as I knew it would change forever.

After I gazed upon the most beautiful piece of art ever created in the history of the world, I began to tell my wife all about it; even though she had been in the room while the whole film played. I jumped up and down and made Nazgul sounds as I used my body to paint only a mere fraction of the epic vision that had been bestowed upon me to witness in all its glory. "Will you settle down?! You're speaking too quickly!" my irritated wife said but I was too lost in my own freedom of expressing myself; flailing my arms about in a fit of excitement as if I were being electrocuted. She stood up, brushed me off and said she was going to make our night-time tea. I flopped back into my armchair and as I was trying to catch my breath, I saw her slip sleeping pills into my tea as she dunked the bag up and down. In twenty-seven years, she has never given me any kind of sedative, but I didn't care. I drank it anyway.

The next night, I turned on the computer and used a website called ‘Google.com’ to search for more information on Lord of the Rings and you wouldn't believe what I found. Turns out there is a second movie! "Thank you, god!" I screamed at the ceiling. My wife yelled back asking if I was talking to her, but I assured her I wasn't. Maybe if I show her the second film, she'll come around to it I thought; sequels are usually better anyway. Later that night, she shuffled from the kitchen to the living room couch with her book, but I wasn't in my armchair like I usually am. Instead, I was hiding in the broom closet next to the couch. With nothing but a wooden spoon for a sword and a cooking pot for a helmet, I lunged out of the closet and roared "Servant of Sauron!". She screamed and fell back on the couch, while I quickly took the pot off my head to show her that it was me. "Guess what?! They made a second one, honey!" I said ecstatically; by this point she had begun to put together what was going on. "A second what?" she asked. I filled her in on the second film but for some reason she seemed reluctant to watch it with me. I begged and pleaded until she put her hands to her ears and said she'd do it if I shut up. I took this as a victory. Finally, my wife will experience something I want to watch.

I was so excited as the title for ‘Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers’ came upon my adoring eyes. My neck and head jerked around in excitement as if I were being given shock therapy. As the fellowship hunt down the Uruk-hai to save Merry and Pippin, I couldn’t help but yell out sentimental statements at the television like “Look out Aragorn!” and “He’s got a knife!”. My wife stared confused and kept trying to ask me who everyone was, but I didn’t have time for questionnaires; she’ll have to use ‘Google.com’ like the rest of us. As I watched the battle at Helms Deep, I gripped the arm rests on my chair as if I were being transcended to the highest state of mind a living being can achieve. After the film I immediately sprung to my feet as if I had had a second breakfast, and began to recite what I had seen, full regalia. Arms were flailing in the air, then I kicked over the footrest as if I were an Ent and made painful screams as if I’d been shot with an arrow by an Orc.

I was about five minutes into my one man show before I heard the first noise my wife had made since the film ended which was her shrieking “I said shut up!”. I fell silent. Did she not just bear witness to the second coming like I have? I thought. “That’s it. I’m sick of this. Ever since you started watching these films, you’ve been nothing but a nuisance!” she yelled. I tried to reiterate what I had just been talking about for the last five minutes and she snapped again. “Ok, no more! You’re not allowed to watch Lord of the Rings! It gets you too riled up before bed.” she said sternly with an authoritative look in her eyes. What she just said is worse than her admitting to having an affair. I begged and pleaded, until I was a mess on the floor. I felt like I was Theoden who was under the control of Grima Wormtongue and his master Saruman. She turned off the light and left the living room in darkness and a sobbing excuse like me in it.

That night, I couldn’t sleep. I mean, who could? So, I decided to stare at my wife while she slept, my eyes quickly adjusting to the dark. My eyes turned from sadness to rage as I pondered why the greatest night of my life had been ruined by my best friend. Why won’t she let me watch what I want? Why won’t she let me do what I want to do? I growled in my mind. Suddenly, she woke up and found me staring at her. “What are you doing?” she said half asleep. “Just checking if your pillow works, honey. Go back to sleep” I said hastily. She frowned at this and turned over.

The next night, I begged her to watch the first film as if my life depended on it. She kept screaming she didn’t want to until she was blue in the face, but it was then that she said something that made me so mad AND happy at the same time. “I don’t care about your stupid bloody trilogy!” she yelled as she put an aspirin into a glass of water. I stood in astonishment. “What did you say?!” I shrieked in a high tone that made her jump a little. “I said I don’t give a crap about your bloody trilogy!” she roared without fear before turning back to her glass of water to stir. I took a step towards her.

“A trilogy?” I asked as if she had told me she found a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. Her face upon my asking of the question went from exhaustion to agony. I ran off and she began to scream at me from the kitchen, but it was too late. I went back to ‘Google.com’ and behold: Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King.

Later, I entered the living room excitedly as if I was having my birthday and Christmas on the same day, to find my wife already watching renovation shows. “What the hell, Sarah?!” I asked in shock. She tried to stonewall me by saying “I told you last night. No more. It gets you too riled up before bed”. I began to beg and plead with her once again until I was on my knees screaming at the ceiling what I’d done to deserve such a hellish existence. That I never get to enjoy anything and ever since I was a boy, I wasn’t allowed to express myself. You would’ve thought by the tone and volume of my voice that I had been left behind during the rapture.

My wife was covering her ears with cushions before finally snapping, standing and throwing the remote against the wall. “You better listen, and you better listen good. It’s either me or your stupid fantasy films!” she spat with such hatred. By this point I had crawled on all fours to check on the remote she had thrown. Once again, I screamed at the ceiling “Yes! Yes! You broke the wrong remote! This is the remote for the CD player!” and I began to cackle with joy. My wife stormed out of the room. As I began the movie, she interrupted by appearing with her jacket on and two travel bags in each hand. “I’m going to my sisters!” she blared but it was too late. Whatever she tried to say after that was drowned out by me turning up the volume on the tv so loud that ornaments fell off shelves.

That night I completed my journey. I cried and rewound the films ending sixty-eight times. Even though my wife was gone, I still put on a one-man recap of the final film. I made all the noises, especially the noise that Shelob makes, for two hours until a neighbour called the police. As I laid in bed after a screaming match with the police and my entire street, I was so happy I cried tears of excitement loudly until the morning. You would’ve thought I had just gotten married.

For you see, I wasn’t just crying because I had witnessed the greatest creation to ever exist, but because I learned to stand up for myself and that it’s ok to enjoy one thing in your life. Thank you, Peter Jackson, and especially you, J.R.R Tolkien.