Maybe some of you are wondering what my wife wants to be called.
The answer is actually super simple, but impossible to put into practice.
Whatever suits her mood.
Whose mood?
My wife's, obviously.
What, the night hag's mood? Yeah, right.
The hard part is figuring out what mood she's in. Especially when you have to deal with levels. Ugh, my wife's moods are about as unpredictable as seblak. LOL.
Actually, seven generations of my family supposedly had psychic abilities from time to time, but unfortunately, I ended up as the eighth, ninth, tenth generation... Why haven't you come home yet?
Oh, come on... now I'm singing!
Yeah, I throw up my hands when it comes to reading people's minds. Especially my wife's.
Even though she's my own wife.
One time, I called her “my lady,” and my wife gave me a bombastic look.
“I don't live in the Majapahit era!” my wife protested immediately.
Besides, she said she hadn't showered yet because the water in the tub was still cold. Queens were supposed to smell nice and look beautiful. According to my wife, she still smelled like onions, fish oil, and my sweat from last night.
Huh?! What does that have to do with anything?
Huh?!
My wife absolutely hates being called “you.”
She says she has a name and isn't living in the Stone Age anymore.
But when I call her by her name, my wife says it means I don't love her anymore.
It's hard trying to keep up with a wife's wishes, huh?
May Allah multiply the rewards of every husband reading this.
After being married for a month and a day, I was starting to understand some of my wife's habits, even if only a little.
In the morning, I usually call her “sweetheart” while giving her extra spending money.
She normally doesn't complain. Sometimes, she just gives me a faint smile.
Since I'm rarely home in the afternoon, that means I'm safe as far as forms of address go.
The real danger is when I come home from work.
My wife will pout if I come home empty-handed. She wants me to bring home some snacks so we can eat them together.
But... when I do bring home snacks, my wife still pouts.
Because I brought her fried snacks, while she'd already made fried snacks at home.
Isn't that unbelievably annoying?
Why not just WhatsApp your wife and ask what she wants first?
And that's the main problem.
My wife is amazing.
And mysterious, too.
Once, before I left for work, she asked me to bring home some rujak.
On my way home, I did buy rujak. Two packages, actually. That way my wife would be happy, and I'd be happy too, because I'd get lucky that night.
What happened?
My wife pouted and said I couldn't read the weather.
Before I left for work, the weather had been clear all the way until noon. Then it drizzled for a bit in the afternoon. When I got home, my wife complained.
“Rujak doesn't sit well in my stomach after it drizzles, Angah.”
But I bought it exactly as she asked!
Another time, my wife didn't ask me to bring home anything, so I took the initiative and WhatsApped her.
“My love, what should I bring you later?”
Her reply came in seven seconds flat. “Wait and see what mood I'm in first, okay?”
Seriously?
Last night was the worst. My wife didn't ask me to bring home anything, and I didn't ask her anything on WhatsApp either. On my way home, I stopped by our regular chicken-noodle stall.
I bought her two packages.
Want to know what happened when I got home?
She was happy, smiling wide as she thanked me. I felt relieved, of course. Happy too.
I felt like I'd successfully made my wife happy.
A few seconds later, she stared sharply at me. Then she started sniffing my clothes from front to back, circling around and doing it seven times.
“Who did Angah eat chicken noodles with at that stall?” my wife demanded. “Confess!”
I immediately panicked and started defending myself.
“Why do your clothes smell like chickeeen noodlesss?”
I slapped my forehead in frustration.
“Could they possibly smell like satay, babe?”
“Why are you bringing satay into this?”
I froze for three seconds, then scratched my head, completely confused.
“Come on, keep me company while I eat bakso.”
“But that's chicken noodles, babe.”
“I'm not in the mood for chicken noodles anymore.”
Huh?
Once we got inside, we still ate the chicken noodles I'd bought earlier.
Good grief.