A good husband has good intentions.
This is how it went in my head………. I would spend time during the day preparing the meal by sourcing the ingredients from Aldi (my new Mecca) and revising the recipe. I would then start cooking said meal whilst my wife bathed our grimy, mud-kitchen-stained children. I would pop upstairs whilst gently simmering, to read my children a Mr. Men story of their choosing, and then pop back downstairs, leaving my wife and daughter to their nightly performance of ‘No more boob for you Regan MacNeil’. I would lay the table, drink some Aldi wine (it tastes just like real wine), set some mood lighting and sing some Elvis as I added the finishing touches to my culinary display of love.
Wifey would eventually come downstairs looking devil-bedraggled but resolutely un-suckled and would be immediately taken aback by my handsomeness. She would thank her lucky stars that she had married me, and we would feast like kings. I would be witty, all professional-chefy and more devastatingly charming than she could bare. She in turn would be delightful, insightful, most thankful and stuffed FULL of a plate full of delicious fare. What could possible go wrong….?
This is what actually happened……….. I had, as planned, shopped at the alter of Aldi (a car boot full of shopping for 10p) and was midst mise-en-place. I could hear the children screaming as they had their hair washed upstairs and I marvelled at my wife’s unending patience levels as I peeled, chopped and diced. I tasted, seasoned and adjusted the gas levels from boil to gently simmer. And then it struck me. (This was the precise moment that the ‘plan’ started to slide). It came to me in a flash of genius, that the kitchen cupboard I was currently rummaging through to locate a stock cube, was not organised in such a way as to be ultimately usable. It then became further apparent (I was on a genius roll) that the best course of action at this juncture, was for me to take everything out of the cupboard and then put it all back in again, to make it all better now. It was a small spice cupboard. What could possible go wrong…..
A good husband is thorough.
She is a strange compulsion Lady Obsession. A seductive mistress, all buxom and beguiling with ways and means to effortlessly lead even the most honourable and best-intentioned Joe astray. Either that, or I am just a weak-willed nobhead, for when The Lady comes a-knocking at my door, history tells us that I am able to do little else than drop my trousers and dutifully bend over. This time would be no different. Alas.
So, there I was with the ENTIRE contents of EVERY kitchen cupboard strewn all over the work surfaces, kitchen table and floor. I am such a douche bag. In the twitch of a psychotic eye, the cupboard doors were now hanging wide, the cupboards were bare and the kitchen was consumed by consumables, as far as the eye could see. As I stood back to survey the damage, even I was taken aback by the sight I did behold. It was bad yo. The kitchen looked like a scene from Poltergeist. And then I heard my wife’s footsteps coming down the stairs….Bugger.
A short play by Man in his Pyjamas.
A kitchen door opens. A tired looking woman walks in.
Woman: Oh FFS!
The woman leaves the kitchen and shuts the door with a flourish.
As I stirred my delicious sauce at the epicentre of ground zero, I took a moment to consider just how it had come to this? Why do I never learn? DAMN YOU LADY OCD. My plan, my plan, a kingdom for my plan! Once again I took stock. My wife was now seething in the living room, the kitchen table I had set for dinner was indistinguishable from an explosion at Tesco and the burgers that………BLOODY HELL THE BURGERS!
A good husband will try to lighten the mood.
Sitting in the living room eating our dinner, you could have cut the tension with a knife, which is more than could be said for the burgers which had been grilled into permanence. So charry were they, I half expected to unearth diamonds. As I watched my wife chipping away at the blackened and dusty remains of her meal, I tentatively mused that she looked like a furious archaeologist. She in turn suggested that I be quiet. Not with words you understand, but with an icy glare that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. We finished the rest of our ‘meal’ in silence. Apart from the tap-tap-tapping of the burgers.
A good husband will try to explain.
Trying to explain to a woman who thinks that you’re a raging psychopath exactly why you’ve destroyed her kitchen at 8 O’clock at night, when you were SUPPOSED to be making her the dinner that you’d gone on-and-on-and-on about ALL DAY is a tricky sell for real. But if you do attempt the destroy-a-room-in-your-house-in-under-10-minutes-and-test-your-marriage-to-the-max manoeuvre (patent pending) I suggest you refrain from using any of the following sentences in your defence. Trust me m’kay?
a) Well when did YOU last clean them out?
b) There was a Christmas pudding at the back from when your mum was alive!
c) I’m just more organised than you!
d) Well at least I am a TIDY dick head….
e) Maybe I’m just more efficient than you?
A good husband will make himself scarce.
After the above sentences had been exchanged and I had surmised that my life-force was soon to be snuffed out, I abandoned kitchen and went to the spare room to sulk like a real man. I watched Star Trek into Darkness on my Chromebook and wearing head phones I drank a kings ransom in red wine. My intention was to go downstairs after the dust had settled and re-organise the kitchen into such a state of glorious efficiency that I would be heralded a hero and could sit atop my kitchen table, with my pregnant wife prostrate at my feet; never to be doubted or ridiculed again.
I awoke at around 7.00 am with a ******* start as my wife brought me my morning coffee and slammed it on to the bedside table in such a way as to suggest that she was displeased with me? Early-morning-groggy and still wearing my headphones, I couldn’t tell exactly what she said as she left the room, but it sounded something like sort out the truck in my kitchen? She’d been up since 4.30 am, you’d have thought by 7.00 am she’d have had the time to find her happy place? Like I said – INEFFICIENT. I untangled myself from my headphones, attempted to extract my coffee cup from the bedside table to which it was now melded, and sought to steady my nerves.
A good husband will pretend all is well.
The family ate their breakfast in the living room on that Wednesday morning, served to them by a slightly panicked man in his pyjamas trying to convince the world that this was all perfectly normal behaviour. He did consider getting moody when one of his children smeared honey on the arm of the sofa, but decided better of it when his wife went all Medusa on his ass. He averted his gaze and scurried away, lest he be turned to stone and placed in the garden for the birds to shit on. His family all left for their drama session at 9.00 am, after a delightful morning, not to return until midday. He had three hours to save his marriage.
A good husband can move, move , move any mountain.
As the car pulled up, he was wiping down the surfaces one final time and arranging the bunch of flowers he had rushed out to buy just 10 minutes afore. As he heard the sounds of the key in the front door and his children arguing over who could ring the doorbell, he sat himself down at the kitchen table, opened a magazine, took a deep breath, and attempted to look effortlessly nonchalant and unconcerned. He could feel his heart beat in his shins.
A good husband knows when to keep quiet.
All throughout her kitchen inspection he could hardly breathe. He watched closely out of the corner of his eye as she opened each cupboard in turn, looked inside and closed it again. There are only 8 cupboards and 3 drawers in their kitchen, but is seemed to take her forever. (Like I said – INEFFICIENT). He was nervous. Really nervous. He hadn’t just tided the cupboards, he’d reorganised them as well. He’d made them uber efficient. He hoped. He’d tweaked her triangle (so to speak). Tins had swapped places with home baking. Pasta and rice had switched with conserves and condiments. Medical was now in a different room! He was playing a dangerous game and he knew it.
She went to make a cup of tea, but looked in the wrong cupboard. *D’Oh!* She sighed. He daringly started a game of’ ‘warmer, warmer, colder, colder’ to help her navigate around her own kitchen. He could see the corners of her mouth begrudgingly turning upwards despite her best efforts. He continued his dance on a knife edge, confident in his ability to make her laugh. He enjoyed being a clown for her most of all. He allowed his bum-hole to unclench for the first time that morning. She spoke….
Her: There seems less stuff?
Me: That’s because it’s ORGANISED. Do you like it…..
Me: Is it better?
Me: IN YOUR FACE!
A good husband makes a good wife.
She gave me The Look. You might know The Look? The Look says, in a single glance, that you are the most annoying, irritating, cantankerous, obsessive, frustrating, know-it-all arsehole that I have ever or am EVER likely to encounter in a thousand life times….. but….. I love you…..you arsehole.
I love The Look. Proper love right there. None of your daisies and butterflies. Just real life – I love you despite myself love. I live to fight another day.
Anyhoo – what she had failed to see up to this point were the four full bin bags of her kitchen belongings that I’d discarded as part of efficiency savings. She hadn’t seen them because I’d hidden them around the corner, outside behind the bins. I should really take those to the tip before she spots them…
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