I love my husband. Did I ever tell you that? No?! Oh dear. So here I go saying it (again) I love my husband. He is one man who has utter and pure confidence in my abilities! There is nothing that I can do right (well that’s an exaggeration) Let’s rephrase that. He believes that ANYTHING that goes wrong, I am the reason behind it!
Socks missing: my fault. He forgot to turn the hob off when he was cooking rice: my fault, because I should have reminded him. My computer’s screen broke (because he fell one it): my fault, I should have shut the flap; Rains failed in Rajastahan, I was to balme, no rubber was tapped in Kerala… you get it, right. So supreme is his confidence in my abilities to wreak havoc that his mental faculties get too clouded to accept the obvious.
But this one is my favourite. Not too long ago we moved into a new apartment. It came with all fittings and appliances. Along with it also came an unfathomable washing machine. After many a trial and error and three laundry disasters later we finally figured it out. It was during one of those washing emergencies we clashed. I thought I had fixed the bloody contraption and we had with us a clean load; while he pointed out that it wasn’t so. Evidence: his (torn) jeans which still had muddy stains on them. With incriminating evidence in front of me, I acquiesced that it did seem to be the case and came to the conclusion that the machine was still acting up.
Now anyone would thing matters ended there, but NO. Patidev suggested that I had forgotten to put the piece of clothing in the machine. I calmly replied that such wasn’t the case. I got a smirk for a reply. Now any man who’s observed women long enough would know that a SMIRK goes a long way in fanning very negative passions in the most calm of matronly souls. And I am but one!
With many a suppressed emotions, I reiterated that the confounded pair had indeed seen the inside of the washing machine and due to mechanical malfunction of the latter came out unwashed. Again, anyone in their right minds, would let it go. But not my warrior prince from the jungles of central Travancore.
Cutting a long story short and blazing row ensued. As again, I was held blameworthy, while the blasted washing machine escaped unscathed!
Most times when there is peace, there is perfect understanding. Till of course comes the next fight. In those times, tails he wins, heads I lose (literally as well!). Imagine being stuck in this conundrum when you have grown up in a house where you were accused of assuming you were always right! Gosh that takes for a lot of adjusting.
The hubby for all this darling ways, like I proved, is convinced that I am mostly wrong, on some rare occasions, when I am not wrong we are both right. Every time I get stuck in this conundrum I think of The Box. Before you think that some metaphysical lecture that is coming your way, relax. It is a movie that I am talking of. The film held much promise and delivered as far as I was concerned but others disagreed ("others" being the husband), which is surprising and I will tell you why. If you took off the science-fiction and psychological garb off it, the plot was fairly simple. Women cause trouble!
Given his predisposition of presenting me with the blame, this should have been his favourite movie! Which it isn’t and oh yes, I was blamed for choosing it :/