I have never understood why I dread this day so much. Year after year, whenever the date draws closer I would get a fever and almost become sick. I’d get into a foul mood; a bottomless pit that no one would be able to draw me out of, try as hard as they would.
Who am I fooling though; I think I have the slightest idea of why I cannot stand this day. The infamous Valentine’s Day. The reason can be surmised in two words. My wife. Nothing I do on that day seems to please her. Everything I say to her is somehow turned into a war and now I cannot stand the warzone that I previously called home. I don’t even know who this woman is anymore. I don’t know where this monster came from, because this is definitely not the woman I married. Somehow, she will find a way to turn everything I say into something horrible and use it against me. The time span is not limited. It could be used against me today, next week, next year or ten years down the line. My wife’s brain is like a recorder, she could win any award in the world if ever they gave awards in that sector. It is why I no longer buy a calendar……who needs a calendar when you have a live talking one…
Every day I ask myself, how did we get here? We used to love each other so much. Where on earth did all that love disappear to? It’s like I woke up one day and there was the devil’s sister breathing fire down my neck through flared nostrils, finding fault with anything I touched or did. Heck this woman will find fault with the way I breathe. She’ll find fault with how I arch my eyebrows when she talks to me.
“Now you are just being contemptuous,” she’ll begin when I look up from whatever I am doing to listen to whatever she has to say. And that, when I haven’t even opened my mouth to say a word. So I would ask with a bewildered look, “why?” and she’ll go, “Ohh you think this is funny eh. Because I can read your body language like a – don’t, don’t do that. Don’t give me that arrogant look.”
So I’d sit there perplexed, deciding it would be best if I closed my mouth shut and said nothing because anything I say would be misinterpreted. And that is when all hell breaks loose. “So, now you are going to ignore me like I don’t exist eh? Who the hell do you think you are? Don’t you dare go mute on me!” at that moment I am completely confused. If I speak up there is going to be a war. If I decide to keep mum there is going to be a silent bloodbath. As a man, I am damned if I do and damned if I don’t.
So I close my eyes, seething with rage, and decide to think about something else.
“I know what this is,” she begins contemptuously and even though my eyes are closed I can hear the snarl in her voice and I picture her lips doing the upward curl. That curl that always says it’s going down. That curl that signals the end of time for me. That curl that makes me want to close my ears with my hands and go into a corner somewhere and become a tiny ball and disappear from the face of the earth. Yes, that curl. For the first time as a grown man, I want to burst into tears and cry freely. Because I am so confused about what is expected of me. I am oh-so-confused.
“I know what this is. Go ahead, close your eyes and imagine yourself with your whores. After all, they are more important to you than I will ever be.” Ahaaa. There, finally. I was beginning to wonder how long it would take before my whores were brought up. If only! If only, I had real whores and not the imaginary ones my wife keeps conjuring up in my head! If only I had real breathing, walking, slutty whores! Because that’s how my wife paints them to be; slutty. If only these whores actually existed! I would have been the happiest man on earth. I want to ask, where? Where have you seen them so that I can go after them! Lord knows I want these imaginary women in my life. Then maybe all these battles would be worth it, at least then I will know I am being prosecuted for something I have actually done. Not being falsely prosecuted in these cases in which my wife is usually the CIA, FBI, MOSAD, MI6, KGB and Recce squad all summed up into one. In these cases in which she is the star witness not to mention being the prosecutor, judge, jury and hangman. Because hang me she will, for a crime I did not do, as a result of a single text message she found in my phone. I have come to believe she is omnipresent, this one, that’s why she is always a witness to crimes I did not perform or wasn’t anywhere near the vicinity in the first place.
I want to know though, where are these women that are so easy to come by and would willingly spread their legs with zero effort that my wife keeps talking about because you know what, I can’t seem to find them!
This valentines I know it isn’t going to be any different. She’ll keep nagging weeks earlier asking where I am going to take her. And I, being the typical man that I am, will answer with a lot of confidence that it is going to be a surprise, even though the issue doesn’t cross my mind even for a fleeting moment, other than the time she brings it up of course. Now, it so happens that there is such a thing as too much confidence. A thing that I learnt from – you guessed right- my wife. Being the jury, she gets to decide the amount of confidence in my voice. Whether it is too little, too much or if it is just the right tone of confidence. Like at that moment, she judges it is too much, hence the conclusion that I am lying. The end result, she wouldn’t let it go. Another storm is brewing…..
It is two days from the D day and I still haven’t come up with anything. History tends to repeat itself…
Tomorrow I might be able to come up with something, search for those many offers online but then it would be too late because all the places will be fully booked and by now the situation would be so messed up I wouldn’t know where to begin salvaging it if I wanted to. What’s worse, it wouldn’t matter what gift I buy her; seven years of being married and not once was any of the gifts I ever bought appreciated.
Oh well. Here is to nothing.
Lucy Magdalene, my dear wife Lucy Magdalene…
This time round I want to try something different. Something that I would be RIGHTLY persecuted for. Because I am tired of all the nagging for things I never did. Crimes I never committed. I plan on disappearing into thin air for the whole weekend. Switch off my phone and everything. Now she will have something to actually nag about. I am excited to no ends about this small matter. Actually it is not too small a matter – knowing the aftermath would be bloodshed, literally, and that I will never hear the end of it.
There is this pretty little thing at the office that keeps giving me those lustful glances behind those beautiful lashes. Every time she gives me one of those looks… my pants become too tight.
Her name is Beryl; and Beryl is about to get what she has been so indiscreetly asking for.
