Wednesday, December 29, 2010

GOSH, I MISS MY WIFE


This blog was written when Mrs. B had gone to her home for 02 days. Couldn't post it then, doing it now.

I apologize in advance for the domestic nature of this post. I know that domestic posts are narrow and boring, and well beneath my talents as someone with a doctors degree. I won't blame you, my hypereducated audience, if you think that posts of this nature are beneath your intellectual abilities too, and decide to simply skip this post. But there's a long academic tradition of people thanking their spouses for all their support in the acknowledgements of their books, so please take this in that sense.

You know, I just don't know what I would do without her. I went to take a shower just now, and saw the laundry I'd left hanging over the shower bar two days ago. I'd just completely forgotten about it! My domestic skills are so bad. Anyway, I removed it so that I could shower, and then remembered that when I'd hung it up, I'd put in another load. And it had been sitting in the other room for a while! Now, last time Mrs. B. went out of town, I forgot about the milk on the stove and almost burned down the building. Determined not to fuck up like that again, I had made up my mind this time to make everything go spic and span. I took extra care about the milk and also I went to the next room before my shower and put it in the wash basket. Then I thought, since I'm here, I might as well just put another load onto the basket, so I did. Then off I went to take a shower.

And when it was time to eat, man - thats when I miss her the most. Not that I dont like the food she has cooked and kept in the fridge for me, but now when I eat it, I miss her all the more. The aroma from the food is driving me nuts. Out of hunger and the pangs. Who is so silly to tell their wives that they will manage it all by their own? Only us egghead academic types, all brains-on-sticks. Or maybe it's just because I'm a man, and illogical or absent-minded or something. Anyway, I went and heated the food, boiled some rice and had it. Alone. Brrr.

And then I got out of the eating episode to see that I left the milk outside the previous night and it had fermented and become something like a mould (something I had promised myself against), and now Brownie misses her so much that she wouldn't eat the 'tasty' food I cook for her. Again, my domestic skills are just so sloppy. When will my wife the housekeeper come home and save me from myself?

And then I thought immediately about gender roles. Maybe Mrs. B. is better than I am at this housekeeping stuff just because she's doing it, maybe if I simply paid more attention I'd be good at it too. And then I realized, wait. My friend Raj's home was almost the same when his wife had gone away for a few days. So obviously, this housekeeping stuff is innate, not learned! Plus, the cooking! It's gotta be natural.

Although I love to cook, I haven't cooked a meal since my wife left. Just goes to show, cooking just doesn't come naturally to me. So I think.

And my girlfriend, too. First of all, I have a girlfriend--but Mrs. B. doesn't have a boyfriend. So it must be natural for me, as a man, to stray; therefore, it makes sense that Mrs. B. stays home to keep the house. Keeping a good house is her way of making sure that my natural wandering nature still wants to return home. Also, my girlfriend is a really great cook! And her house is so clean! And she has linen and silk sheets on her bed, and down pillows, and house plants, and art on the walls. Just goes to show, it's not just Mrs. B.: all women obviously have this natural domestic talent.

So I can't wait 'til my wife comes home and saves me from these petty, boring, domestic details so that I can get back to what I naturally do best: Important Doctor Stuff.

You know, like writing EAT HEALTHY blogs.

2 comments:

  1. oh god..................u r da sweetest litle creature i hav seen in dis whole wide world....................... i luv u so much...................this is by far da best blog of us dat i hav read....

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