This post is for those who:
- Are/about to get/were married
- Are/about to get/were in a relationship
- Neither wish to get married nor have a relationship – pop open that bottle of wine, kick up your heels and have a laugh at our expense
(In case it escaped your notice, the above three categories effectively cover 99.9% of the human race.)
While gathering my thoughts on the subject, I was struck by the sheer immensity of the challenge I had unknowingly committed myself to – and I’m not talking about the husband here.
How does one even begin to document the madness that ensues when you have a designer, frugal innovator, busybody, closet superhero and MAN all rolled into one?
Oh! Me.. Me! I’ll tell you how!
*Raising hand to desperately gain the teacher’s attention*
You sift through the archives and come up with your most I-told-you-so-moment.
So, here it is –
By now, I’m sure many of you would’ve accurately guessed which way the wind blows (or rather blew). But as (the ever mysterious) “they” say – Wisdom is a journey, rather than a destination; and as experience taught “someone” – this journey turned out to be a rather painful one.
Scene 1 – The dining table
Enter villainous chutney
I placed the deceptively innocuous chutney jar on the table, as we sat down for dinner.
“What’s that?” asked the man I was bound to in holy matrimony for the next couple of lifetimes.
“Mom sent some of her special chilly garlic pickle. I can’t wait to try it!”
Salivating, I judiciously rationed out a tiny dollop of the fiery-red goodness onto my dinner plate.
One bite and I was transported to capsaicin-induced gastronomical heaven.
My eyes rolled to the back of my head, as a medley of pungent flavours did the cha-cha on my taste buds.
Looking disbelievingly at my obvious delight in the humble chutney, he tasted some from my plate.
“Hmm! This is good. I think I’ll have some as well.” Coming from a man who wasn’t the least bit inclined to eat pickles and preserves – this was high praise indeed.
“Careful! Try a little first. You’re not used to the spice level.” I warned him – unknowingly awakening the male-beast that was slumbering within.
With a puffed chest he scoffed, “Hah! Yeh mard ka peth hai! Mard ka!!” (Translates to – This is a man’s stomach! A MAN’s stomach!) (Click to Tweet)
Still, I stubbornly insisted that he be allowed to eat only a little.
Needless to say, my ‘suggestions’ were grace-less-ly accepted and with a sanctimonious smile, I continued to enjoy my meal.
Scene 1 – At work
Enter buzzing phone at desk
Seeing my Mom’s name flashing on the screen, I wondered what caused her to call me during working hours.
Upon answering the call, the first words that came out of her mouth were – “Is he feeling better?”
Totally befuddled and mystified with the direction of the conversation, I asked her what/who on earth she was talking about.
“I got a call from your husband asking for an antidote to stomach cramps. He seemed to be in intense pain! How can you not know?!”
“I’ll call you back, Mom.”
“I’ll call you back!” and disconnected the phone.
I speed dialed the husband’s number only to be greeted with a groan and a croak.
“What happened?!” I shrieked.
He informed me that he was in severe pain as his stomach kept cramping along with all the paraphernalia that accompanied such situations.
I asked him to catalog the things he’d eaten during the day, yet, couldn’t seem to pin down anything that could’ve triggered such an extreme reaction.
He finally said in a near mumble, “It could’ve been the pickle.”
“No way! I saw how much you ate. It couldn’t possibly have been the pickle.” I scoffed, disregarding the notion completely.
There was a very suspicious silence on the other end of the line.
“It couldn’t have been the pickle, right?” I asked with rising dread.
“When you went to keep the dishes away, I may have eaten a spoonful.. or two..” came the garbled answer.
“NOOOOO!!! Why would you do that?!” I was aghast at the idiocy of the act.
“I thought I could handle it!” came the defensive reply.
“Well, what the hell happened to your stomach of steel then??”
And that effectively silenced the MAN’s mouth.
A trip to the emergency ensued, where I realised that ulcerated stomach linings were relatively easier to treat than a bruised male ego. (Click to Tweet)
Scene 1 – The dining table (again)
Enter villainous chutney (yet again)
A few nights later, I heard the abrupt rattle of cutlery as I placed the offending (to some) jar on the table. Looking up, I saw le husband sport an absolutely livid look on his face.
I cheekily asked, “Would you like some?”
“Keep that thing away from me!” came the thunderous reply, while giving it the evil eye.
I bit my cheek, swallowed a giggle and continued to savor my pickled fare.
Over the years, the incidences have grown to an exponentially larger pool of unadulterated exasperation, incredulity and pure maleness! So much so that I’ve come to realise, that one humble post simply cannot deal with the accrued magnitude of epic-ness.
Which got me thinking – Should I turn Le Husband Chronicles into a series? Yes/No/Maybe? (cue to fill the poll below)
But wait!! Perhaps, I should run it by the man of the house first *wink wink*