If wives had thought control — or just thought communication — they could save their husbands from the perils of poor impulse control, writes Gillian Anderson.
A scientist in England is apparently worried that mankind’s in danger of becoming underlings in a future world where computers eclipse our relatively puny brain power.
His visionary solution is an electrode implant that would someday allow human beings to communicate through thought.
If Dr. Warwick can perfect the experiment, he envisions a fun new telepathic life for himself and his wife.
I wish the professor good luck; but honestly, does he think there’s going to be a stampede of men anxious to establish neural links with their wives, even to save civilization as we know it?
Talk about science fiction!
Of course, the arrangement would work well for the average woman. She can’t get her husband to talk to her anyway, so there won’t be a problem with him blabbing all day long.
And think of the practical aspects!
Imagine getting the perfect anniversary present from your husband every year, or in my case, getting your husband to remember the anniversary at all!
And how about hanging on to the safe driving discount, by urging him to keep his eyes on the road when he passes that ‘I’d rather go bare’ protest the college cheerleading squad is holding in front of the town’s fur store?
Oh, yes, he’ll thank you when insurance renewal time rolls around.
Just think of the money couples could save with this inter-marital telepathy!
Whenever a wife sensed her husband was in an ‘unwise’ location — a motorcycle store closeout or a ‘buy one, get one gargoyle free’ sale — a gentle reproach would help him avoid temptation.
The last time my husband took a rambling detour home from a movie, parked the car, turned to me with a passionate light in his eyes and whispered feverishly, “There’s something I want to show you,” it cost us $10,000.
Turns out he’d been visiting this little beauty on a nearby lot for several weeks, rehearsing his 10-reasons-why-we-need-a-new-car speech. If only I’d had thought control — I mean, thought communication — I could have saved him in the early stages of his obsession.
On the other hand, a fella could begin to resent the helpful suggestions, and a gal might notice startling and unpleasant references to her person creeping into his thought patterns, which would trigger her own choice thoughts.
Perhaps for the sake of the children, it would be better to blunder along thoughtlessly (no pun intended) and risks that pesky worldwide domination.
A loving couple could begin this experiment tenderly singing a duet of Some Implanted Evening, but I’ll bet you 20 bucks that after six months of total thought-togetherness, they ended up communicating through legal counsel only.
Gillian Anderson is a freelance writer in the Comox Valley.
