I was back at the airport again on Sunday to reintegrate the wife and sprog into the nuclear family unit. My wife had a great time visiting her mother and her mother had a great time poisoning my wife’s mind with evil. I know this because we had been at home for about five minutes when my spouse said, “We need to talk”. Translation: “I’m about to tell you something that will make your head explode”. This is exactly the kind of thing arch-villains do to their victims to freak them out – “Yes, Mr Bond. You will have noticed the whirling blades of the rusty circular saw advancing steadily towards your testicles…”.
The threat of pain is often more psychologically damaging than the pain per se. If someone sneaks up and gives you a good hearty clout, it’s bound to be a nasty surprise, but I’m pretty sure it will be less disturbing than someone brandishing a cat o’ nine tails, while giving you meaningful looks and sniggering. This brings me to my situation. My mind was still busy curling itself into a metaphorical foetal ball, when my other half let the hammer fall. “I’m going to stop work”, she announced. “B-b-b-but…”, I countered eloquently.
It appears that my dear MIL has managed to convince her that we will “cope”, regardless of the economic facts of our happy union. Cope we will, but at a cost. I don’t earn nearly enough to sustain the lifestyle she has grown used to. She knows this, but at the moment, she’s chosen to disregard the sacrifices that will be necessary: No more movies, restaurants and trips to Woolies (that one’s going to hurt the most, I think. Woolworths is her shrine). Then again, I suppose I should stop being selfish and get another job. After all, there are at least 14 hours in the day that I spend on frivolous activities like eating, sleeping and personal hygiene. Let’s see now… what sort of after-hours job would suit me? Hmmm. Don’t seem to see ‘Male Stripper’ anywhere in the Classifieds.