Julia was always scared of ending up alone. She'd picture herself old and decrepit, sitting in a lonely apparement wondering where it all went wrong.
Out of sheer desperation and panic she ended up marrying a somewhat dim fellow, who went by the name of Don. Don was a simple man to say the least. He was lovable and easy to please.
"Is that a new brand of bread?" he'd gush in the supermarket.
Julia was abnormally intelligent. She had a PhD in biochemistry, she'd written several books on the process of some "cells and stuff" as Don would try to explain to his mates down the pub. Don was proud of his wife, he didn't feel patronized or less intelligent, "we're just good at different things!" he'd explain further to his friends. Julia was good at science. Don was good at...well... Don was good at being Don.
Julia on the other hand would describe her lover as a swathe literary type who had a PhD in literary fiction and who had also written several books on post-colonialism literary culture. But she'd always thing in her mind "I'm with stupid." but that was okay for her to lie. She grew fond of Don. Don just didn't realized that his wife didn't love him as much as he loved her.