Irvin Yalom

Then and there he conducted a thought experiment. First he tried to slip into the Viennese persona with all the pomposity he had come to hate. By puffing himself up and silently muttering “How dare she!,” squinting his eyes and gritting his frontal cerebral lobes, he re-experienced the pique and indignation that envelop those who take themselves too seriously. Then exhaling and relaxing, he let it all slip away and stepped back into his own skin—into a state of mind which could laugh at itself, at its own ridiculous posturing.

He couldn’t help remarking, “I see you prefer to do things for yourself. Doesn’t that deprive men of the pleasure of serving you?”
“We both know that some of the services men provide are not necessarily good for women’s health!”

“Marriage? No, not for me! I have told you. Oh, perhaps a part-time marriage—that might suit me, but nothing more binding.”