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The Madness of MokcikNab
Motives, movements and melodrama in the life of a thirty something mum.

Monday, April 04, 2005
Walk On By

Whenever my neurosis acts up, I love to throw Saiffuddin a curveball, one of those things that comes out of the blue and simply upsets the system. Well, his nervous system in particular. It's just me, I guess. When my domestic life is moving swimmingly well and my husband thinks that he can do no more beyond happily ever after, it's nice to shake things up a little by annoying him with one of these "Do You Really Love Me?" tests. By all means, you can try this yourself.

This is best done when his guards are down, (ya lor it's a curveball after, all) , like when he's driving you and the kids to McDonalds, which was exactly what happened last Saturday. We were happily chatting about nothing in particular, so I thought it was a good time to ask Saiffuddin this :

"If you didn't know me, and you saw me walking down the street, right now, would you think that I'd be someone you'd want to have sexual relations with*?"

* actually, I didn't use the term "have sexual relations with", I used a simple, four letter monosyllabic word that everyone could understand; but you see, my teenage sister sometimes reads this blog.

Unless you're a well maintained specimen who answers to the name Kimora Lee, you can expect most husbands of many years to stammer at the answer. Because the answer, in truth, is usually a No. Which is, if you think about it, very understandable. Most wives of many years don't wear a "have sexual relations with me" sign across their chests, lighted up in blinking neon. (I meant the sign, not the chest). I certainly don't put myself out as someone you can erm, "have sexual relations with", and I don't dress as such. If I were walking down the street I'd be so non-descript I might as well be pavement mix.

"Ooo-errr", said my husband after some time, "Well, it depends on what you're wearing". This is a polite way of saying he usually wouldn't bother with pavement mix. It's also my cue to sulk, for the whole point of this game is not to be understanding and reasonable.

We had a little tiff, which was enjoyable, just to clear my nostrils. My husband, on the other hand, hates being caught out. Gentlemen (and you just know I'm about to dispense some sage insight on women) here's a very effective come-back should your wife/girlfriend/paramour/mistress decide that today is a good day to see if you love her enough to tolerate her nonsense : turn the tables, and make her feel really guilty. Saiffuddin employs this trick to good effect, with all the hurt and drama of not being appreciated for all that he's done, and constantly whining how could you not know how much I worship you et cetera. In the end, we called a truce.

Later, as we lay in bed (all roads to armistice will lead to bed) he asked me why I would always doubt his allegiance, and why I would never believe it when he says he is still attracted to me.

"You're still the girl I married", he insisted. Therein lies the truth. If I weren't the "girl he married", I'd just be another 36 year old matron, walking down the street and blending in with the shrubbery. But husbands are delusional. They're in love with the 22 year old they proposed to, and they know that matron of 36 that their wives eventually become are mere vessels for that angel they married, guardians to the lovely vision who only comes alive when the lights go out.


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