Circa 1959, Erika had left work to focus on being a housewife and becoming a mother. Joe had become accustomed to coming home from work to a spotless house with dinner on the table.
But one day, Erika picked up The Fountainhead and started reading. When Joe came home, she was still sitting on the couch, the breakfast dishes still on the table, and obviously nothing else done.
"What," he asked, "Do I have to do to get some dinner?"
Non-committal mumble.
"Do I have to put a bag over your head to stop you from reading?" he asked playfully.
Non-committal mumble.
A suitable bag was found, and placed. This did not stop our intrepid reader. She craftily cut a window, and proceeded to the next chapter. Flummoxed, Joe simply took a snapshot.
I've never heard a version of this allegory that lets us know whether Joe ever got to eat, again.
