Wednesday, 16 September 2009

Marriage is a circus, embrace your clown!

So here I am all dressed up and ready to catch up with a friend who spent an exciting two weeks in France over a bottle of wine. We were meeting up at her place and the wine was my responsibility, while the poor thing slaved over the hob preparing lunch, a thoroughly lip-smacking fare, I may add! Having cinched the easier part of the deal, I sauntered over to the local store in quest of a refreshing Rosé to compliment our afternoon fare. OK OK I am no wine connoisseur, I just read the label at the back of the bottle. As I bagged a seemingly enticing bottle of red (instead), I proceeded to the counter to pay. So this good man takes a look at the bottle and then at me a couple of times, quizzically. “That’s wine,” he tells me helpfully.

“Uh yeas,” I reply, beaming at him, hoping to mask the”duh” in my head.

“You are buying this, yeah?”, he asks, frown in place.

“Yes, please,” I reply, still beaming.

It was his question next that stumped me clean.

“how old are you?” the frown deepening.

“I am __” ah well suffice to say old enough to vote my friend! (Ha you thought I would reveal my age! Oh wait or have I mentioned it) Anyhow…

Despite my calm outward appearance I may inform you, I was a bit taken aback… actually no… I was maha flattered! It began to dawn on me that the guy thought I was younger than I looked. But why should that stop him from selling me the wine, i wondered. After all it's legal to buy liquor even if in your very very early twenties, right?! Of course my answer came seconds later.

“Heh, you sure? You look 15 – 16,” the man says! Now I am all for receiving compliments on my youthful looks, but this is taking it too far.

So after reassuring him that I was from the neighbourhood and not an underaged alcoholic, he agreed to let me buy the wine, on the condition that the next time I visit there, I should have an ID handy.

(But he was mighty sweet about the whole thing, so he’s forgiven)

Well I may protest at being considered a juvenile, truth be told I was actually thrilled at being considered younger than my age…ah well numbers are just numbers, 15 or 20 or 22, how does it matter, as long as the figure was under 25.

But this post is not about my looks, as young as they might be. So read on.

Having spent a generally happy day, I met up with the husband at the tube station on our way back; I from my friends’ and he from office (Pray bear with the details because I don’t want you distracted!) and I recount the incident to him.

He takes one look at me and points to my face saying, “It must be the acne.” No ladies and gents, he was not kidding. He said it with a deadpan look and with complete sincerity.

I would have pushed him off the train but there were too many witnesses and yeah the doors were closed.

Flabbergasted I gave him a wan smile and wondered what happened to the man who a scant 10 months back couldn’t stop going on and on about how lucky he was to have a pretty girlfriend! Which bring me to the question- why is it so difficult for men to appreciate their wives.

You plan weeks ahead to organise your child’s first birthday party and create an event everyone can’t stop raving about. You make the costume and the party hats, prepare the food, manage the decorations, and still manage to look like a hot mama for the shindig. The party turns out great, and all your husband can spare at the end of it all is, “Oh good choice on the emcee, he was pretty good!” Can you be blamed for wanting to smash the cake in his face!

Or you slave in kitchen cooking up a meal fit for a king, in this case the husband, feeling guilty for having fought with him, only to be told later, “Next time we go home, ask mom to teach you how to make the biryani the way she does!” You sit and wonder why you bothered.

And then there is the four course anniversary dinner you cooked hoping to be appreciated for the effort and love that went behind it. The mood is right, the place is set, you serve the hor ‘doeuvers awaiting the compliment with bated breath.

“Eww… is that fish? I don’t like fish”

Would you like some knuckles served instead?!

Would it have been too hard to say, “Great party honey!” or “Loved the food” or get some nice flowers and a diamond pendant for the effort? So what if you don’t like fish, would it be too hard to hold your tongue for a change?

Now please don’t think I am asking you menfolk to be insincere, all I am saying is that a little sensitivity goes a long way in keeping the wife happy and the house quiet. So what if she’s put on a little weight or still sports youthful acne, she’s still thinks she’s the princess you fell in love with!

5 comments:

morpheus said...

nice read, am a bit inspired to jump start my blog once more .

Shwetz said...

Oscillating between LOL and awwww, but mostly LOL!!!
:D
My favouritest post so far! :D

Latin Sardar said...

LO-so-damn-L!!

Let me just catch a break from laughing and then I'll read this again.

March Hare said...

@Morpheus: Pls do! and thanks!
@Shwetz: Thanks! n like u said sweetie, a bad day/exp makes good fodder for the blog!
@LS: u are just being nice! :P

ki said...

Hahaha :D

Yeah, this happens to me so much.

Me: Baby do you still think I"m pretty?

Him: Fatter. And hmm, pretty too.

Me: @#!$#%@%$#@%#$!

:D