I have reached a point in my life where I believe every problem I encounter—particularly those that are not my fault—can be solved by hiring a 19-year-old Swedish au pair.
This is not a whimsical conclusion. It is the result of years of careful observation, reflection, and several avoidable incidents involving jackets with 35 pockets.
Take, for example, the recent matter of our trip to Barcelona. I was lured there under emotional duress—tears were involved—and within hours of arrival, I was the victim of a coordinated, international pickpocketing event disguised as a cultural exchange.
At no point was this my fault.
And yet, there I stood: wallet gone, passports missing, dignity compromised, and my wife, Kate, calmly suggesting that perhaps I should have kept my mouth closed.
This is where the Swedish au pair comes in.
A properly trained 19-year-old from Stockholm would have stood quietly beside me on the Metro, her Nordic instincts finely tuned to danger. At the first whisper of a zipper, she would have intervened—swiftly, efficiently, and without emotional entanglement.
“Sir,” she would say, gently but firmly, “this woman is opening your jacket.”
Problem solved.
Or consider my ongoing difficulties with modern technology. I recently spent forty-five minutes attempting to locate a document that, according to my computer, both existed and did not exist. This is a level of philosophical ambiguity I am not equipped to handle.
A Swedish au pair would resolve this in seconds.
“You saved it to the desktop,” she would say, retrieving it instantly, perhaps while preparing a light Scandinavian lunch and correcting my posture.
Again—problem solved.
There is also the matter of driving.
When my wife is behind the wheel, I am often compelled to provide helpful commentary such as, “Watch out,” and, on occasion, “We’re all going to die.” This has been misinterpreted as anxiety.
It is not anxiety. It is foresight.
Still, it creates tension.
A Swedish au pair, seated calmly in the back seat, would place a reassuring hand on my shoulder.
“There is no immediate danger,” she would say. “Also, you are making things worse.”
This is the kind of balanced feedback I rarely receive.
And then there are the small, daily injustices.
Misplaced keys. Missing glasses. The mysterious disappearance of items that I personally set down in what I believed to be a safe and logical location.
A Swedish au pair would know where everything is.
“You placed your glasses in the freezer,” she would say, without judgment.
“Of course I did,” I would reply. “To keep them fresh.”
She would nod. She understands me.
My wife, Kate, does not fully embrace this solution.
She has raised what she refers to as “practical concerns,” including cost, logistics, and the fact that our problems are, in her words, “largely self-inflicted.”
I disagree.
The world has become increasingly complex. There are more zippers, more passwords, more opportunities for attractive strangers to compromise one’s financial stability.
It is unreasonable to expect one man—particularly one with over 150 unfinished novels—to navigate this landscape alone.
A Swedish au pair is not a luxury.
She is a necessity.
Think of her as a life buffer. A human firewall. A calm, rational presence standing between me and the consequences of circumstances that are clearly beyond my control.
Would this solve every problem?
Of course not.
But it would dramatically reduce the number of international incidents, missing documents, and unnecessary emotional escalations.
And in today’s world, that may be the best we can hope for.
Kate remains unconvinced.
But I am confident that, in time, she will come around.
Possibly after the next incident.