Life — September 2, 1920 — page 31: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Ego, Ego, Who's Got the Complex? The Social Significance of the Freudian Theory Married couples would derive much comfort from a knowledge, however superficial, of psychoanalytic principles. —Tridon, said Mercedes to me at the breakfast table, “I am going shopping. I 2 must have a hundred dol- lars.” Nonsense!" I replied. “You don't need a hun- dred—or fifty—or twenty-five—or thirty- nine cents, for that matter.” “What!” exclaimed my sweet little bride, bridling for all she was worth. “Let us be calm,” I said. “ Your desire for shopping is merely the outward mani- festation of an exaggerated inner ¢go- gratification urge. You don’t need any- thing.” “T do, too. Don't you want me to look as well as the others?” “ Ah—now you are exhibiting symptoms of a compulsion. Some one of your friends has a satin skirt or a pair of shoes that is not included in your ward- -LIFE. robe; consequently you dread the pos- sible feeling of inferiority that your non- possession might arouse. There are, ac- cording to Freud, only three fundamental impulses—” “Oh, shut up!” exclaimed Mercedes, irritably and inelegantly. “—Fundamental motives or urges,” I continued triumphantly, “that could cause you to crave a shopping expedition. Be- tween the separate desires of these urges and the desire to acquire a new blouse, or hat, or sweater, I can find no connec- tion that is not entirely too far-fetched to be considered either normal or rational. And there you are. The checkbook re- mains in the desk—all’s rosy with the universe.” “You drive me frantic!” exclaimed Mercedes. “All I want is the simple pleasure and distraction of a day’s shop- ping—and—and you're so mean . . . and. . boo hoo!” With a torrent of sobs, Mercedes averted her face. Followed several uncomfortable mo- ments, in which the back of Mercedes’ neck grew pathetic, appealing and alto- gether adorable. I became contrite. “Mercedes, dear,” I murmured, and put my arm about her. “Oh, wad some power the giftie gie us To see oursel’s as others see us! It wad frae monie a blunder free us, And foolish notion.” 411 “Don't touch me!” she wailed, and she sobbed anew. It was truly exasperating. 1 controlled myself as long as I could. “Here,” said I, after I had run to the desk drawer and scribbled furiously, “here's a hun- dred and fifty—but you might bring back a little change.” The effect was instantaneous. “Wretch!" she exclaimed, sniffing, aris- ing and seizing the check all at the same time. “When I get through with this, you won't have enough to buy yourself a pair of listerine-flavored chewing-gum tablets!” And she stalked from the room, For several long minutes I thought deeply. Finally, I summoned the maid. “Mary,” I said to her, “on the table in my room you'll find a book with a muddy green cover. It has a name that sounds something like ‘ psychoanalysis.’" agreed Mary. “Take it, Mary,” I said, “and present it, with my compliments, to the iceman.” Henry William Hanemann, “T: AKING the orchids to your fiancée No; to a girl in my factory. She is threatening to quit.” comicbooks.com