Gut Feeling and The Beatles

Okay, so in this scene, Winnie has just had a very upsetting argument with her husband. She's at Deborah's house, and they're having a shower together because they're secret sex friends, but mostly because they were in the pool and want to get clean before they go to sleep, so they gotta have a shower, right? Also because they're secret sex friends.

What I'm trying to do here is illustrate how Winnie uses culture, symbols, and icons as ways to understand how a person feels or thinks. How they respond to those images or ideas helps Winnie to understand by relating or not, to those responses.

There's nothing sexual about this passage, by the way. This is just two people talking in a shower.

Anyway, lemme know what you think. I just wrote this like ten minutes ago, and I thought it was worth sharing.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” I said as she rinsed shampoo out of my hair.

“Sure thing,” she said. I turned and looked at her.

“This is going to sound weird, but I need you to be really honest,” I said.

“Okay…” she said, her face showing a hint of concern.

“Who’s your favorite Beatle?” I asked. I hoped that she understood that I was absolutely serious. She blinked and gave her head a little shake.

“What? My favorite Beatle? Like the band?”

I nodded. She looked down for a second, seemingly thinking about her answer.

“John, I guess,” she said. I started to nod, but then she continued. “No, wait. George. Final answer. George.”

I smiled. That was a better answer. My brain will make a determination about a person’s personality based on their answer to that question. John was an artist and a genius, but he was also sometimes a bastard who treated people poorly. He was cynical and arrogant.

“Why George?” I asked as Deborah turned off the water. She scrunched up her brow as she considered her response.

“He was quiet and reserved, but every album he tossed out one or two total bangers. I respect it.”

“I like that,” I said. Deborah and I stepped out of the shower and she wrapped me in a sheet towel.

“Who’s your favorite?” she asked as she dried her hair. I didn’t have to think about it at all.

“Paul. Easy. He had the stronger solo career; his songs are better-crafted, and his lyrics make sense. Ringo is good too, because he’s dependable and a phenomenal drummer. But Paul wrote some of the most beautiful songs of the last century.”

“I can tell you’ve thought about this a lot,” she said, smiling. I realized I was blabbing again and felt myself getting self-conscious.

“I guess. I just think you can tell a lot about someone based on who they pick,” I said. She nodded and wrapped her hair in a towel.

“So, that being said. If I had said John, would you have thought less of me?” Deborah asked, with just a hint of sadness in her eyes. I could tell how important it would be for me to answer this right.

“No, I would have thought more of John,” I said. It was true. I wouldn’t have thought less of Deborah, I would have worked to reframe my opinion of John. That was more pliable than my feelings for Deborah.

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