My wife is amazing, but also... weird as hell!
She’s amazing because so many of her habits are completely out of left field.
No wonder that when I asked her mom for her blessing to move out with her, the woman told me to take good care of her daughter.
I take good care of her, Mom.
I swear!
It’s your daughter who’s not always good to me. Does she really have to mess with me every single day?
Or... maybe my wife just has too much free time? But then again, she always seems busy around the house whenever I’m home.
Should I install security cameras? So I can keep an eye on her from a distance.
But... what would my wife say? I’m afraid she’d think I don’t trust her.
Then she’d go complain to the family that I’m “the Most Suspicious Caveman in Human History.”
Arghhh!
My wife is weird in another way, too. She’ll forget one hundred percent of the things she does to me. But what’s even weirder is that she’ll remember my mistakes until the end of time, even if they’re only as tiny as a bird’s-eye chili seed chopped into seven pieces.
That’s insanely small, right? To my wife, though, it’s as big as the universe.
Like this morning. My wife had already forgotten that she ordered me to sleep on the family-room sofa last night.
I showed her proof that I hadn’t slept well because of all the mosquitoes. Then I showed her the parts of my body covered in welts from those bloodsucking monsters.
My wife just burst out laughing, so I slipped away to the bathroom first.
I wanted to argue with her, but I was already tired of my wife’s excuses.
“Don’t ask me to argue, Angah! I don’t dream of becoming president. I only want to become the president’s ex.”
At first, my brain took a while to load. How did that work? Before you can become an ex, you have to get together first, right?
Wait, what?
Besides, I’m still traumatized. Because we argued way too early in the morning, I ended up peeing my pants.
Hahahaaa.
Oops, embarrassing!
This morning, my wife said we were having a Western-style breakfast.
I stayed silent for three seconds, then pointed at the contents of my plate.
“This is called a hamburger, Angah!”
Yeah, I know there’s a food called a hamburger, but this thing didn’t look anything like one. Not even close.
This looked more like an areca nut split open with a hacksaw.
“A hamburger has bread, right? This has bread! It has lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, sausage, and chicken. Oh, and there’s mayonnaise and sauce. Or do you want sweet soy sauce too, Angah?” My wife took attendance for everything on my plate.
I shook my head. Aren’t hamburgers supposed to use round buns? Why was this using square bread?
“Confused?” my wife asked. Maybe the confusion on my face had been detected early on. “JUST EAT WHAT’S THERE!”
I swallowed hard.
When my wife says, “Just eat what’s there,” I’m not allowed to complain.
Did I want her to call me an ungrateful husband?
Did I want her to call me a husband who complains too much?
Did I want her to complain about me in the family WhatsApp group?
Of course not, right? Same here.
I’d rather surrender than get yelled at.
The whole extended family could erupt later. Then my good name would be ruined.
“Who said that?” I pretended to flirt. “I was just about to say how amazing my wife is for being able to cook Western food.”
My wife smiled.
“I’m lucky I married you, babe. You’re beautiful, kind, and you can cook, too.”
My wife smiled even wider. I suddenly started floating.
“What’s wrong with Angah’s ex? Was she ugly, mean, and unable to cook? I happen to have her WhatsApp contact right here. Can I confirm it with her directly?”
I went from floating to plummeting straight into a ravine.
Did it hurt?
Like hell!
“That’s not what I meant, babe.” I still tried to defend myself. “You’re the only one I have, you know.”
“Then what did you mean?”
“Mean what, my sweetie?”
“Why haven’t you eaten your hamburger yet?”
Well, my mouth was busy talking, wasn’t it?!
Before I could even eat the trendy food my wife had made, she took the hamburger filling out first.
“Angah can just eat the bread,” my wife said shamelessly. “Dip it in your hot tea. I’m going to stir-fry the vegetables.”
Then... then what was the point of serving it on a plate with bread and forcing it to look like a hamburger?
“So much for my mini-budget hamburger,” I muttered.
My wife turned around and glared. “What did Angah just say?!”
“I just found out that dipping bread in tea tastes good, babe. You should try it,” I lied.
So whether I ate it or not, I still ended up getting yelled at.
I wonder if my wife would actually try it.