After my emergency operation to search for orange peels in the trash, I went upstairs with the biggest grin on my face. Because the operation had been a success.
Although... I reeked of garbage from head to toe.
That night, for the first time in my entire married life, I took a shower using a whole bottle of liquid soap.
The whole thing.
My body smelled nice right away. But it still felt like I smelled of garbage. Because the stink was still stuck in my nose.
What, was I supposed to shampoo my nose too?
Thirty minutes before bed, my wife and I had a mandatory routine.
Deep talk.
Lying on the bed, our eyes staring straight at the ceiling, our mouths talking, our ears listening, and our brains working.
One slightly wrong response, and the world would end.
“Thank you so much for today, Angah,” my wife said as softly as silk.
I loved this side of my wife.
During deep talk, I had to listen carefully and set off my emergency alarm as early as possible.
One slightly wrong reaction, and the world really would end.
Amazing, right?
Turns out my apocalypse was determined by my wife because of my own mistakes.
“Thank you so much for being such a good husband to me all this time.”
I loved this side of my wife even more.
Five minutes of silence.
My brain immediately sounded a danger warning. Because it was my turn.
Rule number one: when your wife says thank you, you are not allowed to say thank you back. According to my wife, that just made me a copy-machine operator. I had no innovation, inspiration, or imagination.
My brain told me to just copy and paste last night’s speech, but my heart refused. Because I’d already copy-pasted from the speeches of the previous three nights.
Wouldn’t I get murdered for that?
“To my angel, whose eyes hold peace, whose words conceal tranquility, and whose smile strips away every lingering worry, remain my entire world, filling our life with love until the end of time,” I said, then started panting inside and out.
My wife turned to look at me, and a thin smile appeared on her face. I was instantly happy because my sacrifice had paid off.
Good thing I’d spent the afternoon surfing the internet for cheesy lines like that.
My wife turned to me again, and this time her smile began to widen. I was even happier because what I’d hoped for was coming true.
Good thing I’d spent two hours memorizing those words that afternoon.
Yes, two hours!
Didn’t that make me look like someone with way too much free time?
But it was fine. That was some seriously worth-it hard work.
My wife turned to me one more time, this time laughing. So I laughed too.
Five seconds later, my arm got smacked. My wife burst into even louder laughter. I joined in too, but without making a sound anymore. The signals in my head had suddenly short-circuited.
“Cheesy!” my wife shouted, hitting my arm again, once.
“So corny!” my wife continued, hitting my arm one more time.
If a wife hits you once, it means she likes it. If she hits you a second time, it means she loves it. If she hits you a third time, it means she’s addicted.
“Over the top!” My wife’s hand was already raised, but I hurriedly dodged.
Was that how wives expressed love?
I didn’t care anymore.
I swear!
My wife immediately pouted. Her lips stuck out five centimeters. Her index finger was already pointing at the bedroom door.
When things got like this, all I could do was surrender.
I grabbed a pillow and blanket, then got off the bed and headed for the sofa in the family room.
This was my miserable fate, all because my patience had been completely drained by orange peels, banana peels, onion skins, and food wrappers.
Should I just throw those peels away again?
So... so I could get myself a new ticket to sleep in the bedroom. That cheesy speech could be deleted; it was no big deal.
Oh Lord... oh Lord. This was what it was like being my wife’s favorite husband.