I think I can sum up my husband, Olof’s, and my different styles by the funeral instructions our estate attorney had us write when he set up our trusts. Mine went on for three pages. Olof’s were all of six words: “I don’t care. I’ll be dead.”
I’ve always found the topic of why people pick the spouses they do endlessly fascinating, and particularly how some "people" (not mentioning any names) try to compensate for their own perceived shortcomings in a spouse. In one sense, Olof and I couldn’t be more opposite. He’s a Cal Tech-educated engineer trained in reactor physics. I read once that some incredible percentage of “Techers” of Olof’s generation would now be diagnosed as having Aspergers. (The rest would be simply be considered socially maladroit.)
In the end, maybe that’s all that matters.