When I agreed almost a year ago to marry George, I had no idea what I was getting into.
He seemed like such a nice, normal guy. He liked to dance. He went to Mass every Sunday. He had won a house. What wasn’t to like?
Little did I know what lay beneath the surface.
It wasn’t until after the wedding that the truth came out:
I am married to a Trekkie.
Before the wedding, he probably mentioned that he liked Star Trek. But I just added it to my mental list of his likes and dislikes. When he said he liked Star Trek, it never occurred to me that he really liked Star Trek.
But when I saw his excitement over the upcoming Star Trek movie, I began to realize that this was more than a passing fancy.
So I tried to play along, tried to be supportive (or at least tolerant) of something my husband enjoys.
Shortly before Christmas, when I spotted a Star Trek Pez dispenser collection at a nearby store, I snapped it up. What better way to combine two of our hobbies? I figured we’d put the Pez on display somewhere and that would be the end of it.
How wrong I was.
George seemed startled that I didn’t know the names of the Pez characters. To his dismay, my understanding of Star Trek didn’t go much beyond “Beam me up, Scotty,” which until a few months ago I would have imagined being spoken by a Patrick Stewart with pointy ears.
Now I know better.
Now I know that Jean-Luc Picard and Scotty are from completely different generations and that Spock is the one with the pointy ears.
My Star Trek knowledge still leaves much to be desired (at least according to George). And so somehow I have agreed to watch the shows, starting with Season 1 of the original series. The DVD has arrived at the library for me; we just have to go pick it up.
I feel as though I am facing the Borg.
I am going to be assimilated.