Married Life

The sound of some Lawn mower and bacon cooking stirs my senses from a cloud of dream into the blinding morning light of reality. I press myself up against a pillow, forehead rested against my palm, eyes closed tightly as I try to cringe away the sleepiness, which has accumulated around my temples and eyes. A single word forms in the back of my aching head, and I push myself out of bed, towards the kitchen in search of that magical pain-reliever.

Coffee

It’s there on the table. Made and brewed to perfection, nestled quietly with just the right amount of steam rising from the top, a reminder of it being warm and fresh, ready for my morning consumption. I lift my favourite pink mug into my lips and empty the entire load of brown Mocha liquid into my throat, swirling the last mouthful before allowing it to go down. As the caffeine starts flowing in my bloodstream and awaking the sleepy neurons within my brain, I start to think

Which wife has a non-caffeine-addicted husband who happily wakes an hour before her to brew coffee everyday?

There’s breakfast too. Eggs and toast with bacon, sausages, tomatoes and a salad. While I hungrily consume the meal and watch the firm manly figure of my husband prepare his own breakfast, I think to myself.

Which wife has a husband who cooks her meal before his own, everyday?

He sits next to me, hands reaching for the coffee pot to refill my cup, and in his left hand he’s clutching a small bowl of cereal with milk, which looks less than flattering next to my sumptuous breakfast. His eyes are still sleepy, a small consequence of refusing the coffee bean…

…and loving his wife too much in the mornings.

“Mornin’ Rachel!” There is not a hint of regret in his voice, not even when he consciously used the last eggs and tomatoes and bacon and bread for me instead of himself. Being a neat freak, I know the inventories of every item in the refrigerator, but today was one of the occasional days in which my over laden memory allowed it to run out without a restock.

“Mornin’ m’love” My conscience comes to life and gives me a big shove in the butt, so I added, “Thank you for the breakfast.” for the first time in many years. He seemed shocked at first, mouth then curling into a sweet smile.

Having a husband as an architect who designs your own home (or love nest) has its advantages. Firstly, it doesn\'t look as plain and cheesy as most other houses. Secondly, its designed with a working couple in mind, and has a whole bunch of practical features. Like having a couple of shower cubicles in the same toilet so that no one has to fight and bitch over who gets to use the toilet first AND being late for work at the same time. The walls are partially frosted so that we could have our little shower in privacy. Not that I mind him looking at me. I unabashedly undress in the bedroom and enter the bathroom, conscious that I’m waking him up by turning him on with my little strip. He enters after me, and in the ensuing shower, we discuss the morning news over the noise of pattering water. As I enjoy the refreshingness of cold water splashing against my face, and pouring down my body, waking up every muscle and nerve in my system, listening to the spark and enthusiastic jump of my husband’s voice, I think to myself

Which wife has a husband who reads her the morning news from memory, everyday?

In the car, we talk and rant about the new implementations imposed on the social welfare system. Bitching about things that do not concern us at all makes us connect and feel closer together. He drops me off at work before heading off to his firm. Before I leave the car, I feel so thankful for the little things he’d done for me today that I curl my arms around his neck and pull him into a tight embrace, pressing my lips against his mouth as I do so. We french for about a minute, reluctant to leave the warm aura of each other’s company. I relish the fact that my husband’s a good kisser, as his tongue always comes up with something new to do in my mouth. We enjoy the moist encouplement before deciding its time to separate for the day. Despite the repetition of this ritual each and everyday, I still enjoy it all the time.

. . . . . . . .

It’s lunchtime, a morning case and legal madness makes me not look forward to eating lunch with my colleagues. The phone rings and I feel a rush of excitement when I hear the pleasant tone of my husband’s voice over the line.

“Rachel, I was hoping you would be free so that we could…”

The rest of his voice trails off into nothingness as I take in the sweetness and charm of his gesture. To my surprise, he’s decided to drive himself to my office before giving me the call. I open the door of my room and walk into the manly arms of my husband. He walks me out of the office by hand and goes on and on about this lovely Italian restaurant he’d recently discovered. Nothing he speaks goes into my head. There’s just a big smile on my face as I appreciate him taking me out despite the dozens of lunch appointments architects like him have to go for.

Which Wife has a husband who has a flying career but still takes her out of lunch?

I don’t remember the name of the restaurant he brought me to. It didn’t really matter. I listen to him compliment the salads and pasta while I trying to make up comments about the food without fainting with love. “The latte can’t beat the coffee you make for me every morning” was the most intelligent thing I said to him over lunch. He drops me back at work before returning to his own hectic schedule. Right before I leave the car, I press myself against him and rub off some of the perfume from my neck against his jaw. He conveniently whispers into my ear,

“Rachel darling, you look beautiful today.”

My eyes widen in shock. No matter how often he says that, it never fails to hit me like a ton of bricks. A soft sigh is the only thing, which results from a massive influx of estrogen assaulting my nervous system. I feel the rush of pleasure-inducing hormones flowing freely in my bloodstream and I see stars flying across the blackness of my eyelids, closed in the sweet pleasure of his voice. My body tenses and relaxes before I manage to pull myself together, looking deeply into his dark brown eyes, I say,

“Thank you”

Which wife has a husband that produces the same starry effects with the same words, everyday?

Afternoon was worse than morning. The vacant feeling of separation from my husband, and three sittings in three hours watching divorced couples go at each other in a courtroom has left me mentally and emotionally drained. Somehow I caught the fear that my husband and I would end up like them. But the amount of love we had for each other would make the day we divorce the day I die. I return to my office at around 4pm, drained and unhappy at the situation of marriage life in America. Just as I’m about to crack and start thinking about finding another job, the phone rings.

It’s him. I smoothen my hair and adjust my clothing to neatness. Though he can’t see me, I’m still anxious to look presentable when he’s on the phone because of the intense love I feel. I don’t want to shortchange him by being anywhere near sloppy while on the phone. I can hear his colleagues rant and scream at him in the background, about deadlines and projects and clients to be met. But the calm tone of his voice is oblivious to everything else. I have my own colleagues shouting at me too. But here, on the phone, its just like my husband and me are in our own little enclave…just him and me, locked away from the rest of the world. I try to listen to his voice without fainting from the pleasure.

“Hey Darling Rachel, I just kinda called you coz you looked kinda tense today at lunch…So I was wondering whether you were having a hard day at work. So yea, I just wanted to tell you that I’m there if you ever need someone to talk to. I will always be there to listen if you need someone to bitch to about your clients…”

“Oh gosh, I was just thinking about quitting my job until you called…your voice just makes my day honey…everything’s so horrible until you called me, and it just makes things so different…”

“I’m so glad to make a difference in your…”

Despite me trying not to, I fade away into dreamland under the drug-like effects of his voice.

Which wife has a husband who takes time out to call her just when she needs it despite having a death work schedule?

I find courage in his voice to carry on the rest of my day. Even finding enough energy to scold twelve divorcing couples into rethinking their marriages. I eagerly look forward to the time whereby I can see my husband again.

It’s 6pm. I pack my bag and run downstairs, to my surprise, He’s standing there. Right on time. His face is severely apologetic looking as he opens the car door for me and starts the engine.

“Oh Rachel darling, I’m so very sorry but we’re never going to find enough time to buy groceries and cook them without you being overly hungry, and I simply know you are too hungry to wait, your stomach betrays your appetite. Tell you what, there’s this lovely spot at the river where I can buy you some take-away or fast food. We could sit there and eat. It’s not the best month of the year for being outdoors but I guess you’re tired of sitting in a restaurant and having waiters drape…”

Being so dizzily in love with him, I agree. Knowing the fact that I AM tired of going to restaurants and eating meager portions of expensive food. My stomach is growling for sinful portions of fat-laden food, a symptom of a stressful day. I look at the mileage of his Toyota and sigh. It’s almost 3 digits greater than that of my own Ferrari. Numerical proof that he has been driving me around for a long time.

Which Wife has a husband who drives her around like a chauffer despite her having a car that costs twice as much?

Much in line with my craving, he buys take-away McDonalds. A Big Mac with super sized fries and soda, just what I need to fill my stomach. We go to a lonely spot overlooking the river, lit up by the many nightspots that lined the other side. The air was cold and frosty but it seemed so nice and warm sitting next to my husband that I concluded it was summer year round with him around. The air was thick and heavily saturated with romance as we sat together, talking about work and how it’s so much better to be back in college. Conversations soon wander to dating and the fun of youthful romance. The bliss of being young and dumb, ignorant of everything around us. We start talking about all things we’d change if we have a chance to go back to university.

“There’s one thing I’d never want to change dear Rachel…”
“What issit? “
“Meeting You.”

I press my head against his chin, knowing that he loves the fragrance of my hair. I feel the strength of his arms as it wraps around my body, ending as he pulls me into his lap and holds my hands within the sanctuary of his own. I turn my head up towards him, and kiss him tightly, tasting the salt of the fries in his mouth. He pulls back suddenly.

“Oh Gosh Rachel, you’re cold!”
“C’mon you know I’m always warm in your embrace…”
“I don’t want you to get sick y’know…”

To my surprise, he takes off his jacket and places it over my shoulders, leaving himself in nothing more than a white shirt. I try to take it off, unhappy that he’s sacrificing so much for me, but he wouldn’t have it, pressing his neck against my cheek, and hugging me tighter. My heart pounds violently, accelerated by the feeling of emotion of that self-sacrificial gesture and the warmth of his embrace. Half of me wants to let him experience the thump and rump of my heartbeat but the other half is too embarrassed to let him know how I feel. His fingers shiver quaintly

“You know how warm I feel with you in my arms…”
“ Oh tell me about it dear…you’re shivering!”
“I feel warmer than the warmest sunny summer Sunday sunshine!”
“Oh c’mon, its nighttime in autumn, its freezing cold, and you’re dressed in your shirt!”
“Oh no I’m not! I’m dressed in the splendid pleasantly cosy love of my Wife, which makes me feel warmer than any garment of wool or fur!”

I turn and look at eyes, which shine with the light of many stars, and kiss him once again. No longer do I taste saltiness, but instead I taste the sweetness that seems to ooze out of his every outlet possible…

…Especially the words that came from his mouth…, which I so happened to kiss as well.

I break away, slightly unhappy that he’s probably feeling extremely cold but unwilling to show his suffering to his wife out of love.

“It’s late honey… I better get you home.”
“Oh…I want to stay in your arms forever”
“You’re my wife! Don’t you remember? For better or for poorer, in sickness and in health, till death do us…”
“OK ok…I guess I’m with you forever then”

The car trip home was thickly saturated with romantic fluffiness, especially with Frank Sinatra crooning love melodies playing on the radio. Every time I looked at him while he was driving, his eyes would be taken off the road and fixed onto my own. Till I decided it would be best not to look at him lest an accident happen. The withdrawal from his touch started to stir me to arousal, and secretly I desired to make love to him once we reached home. Every speed hump we went over caused me to bump on my chair, creating a maddening rush of pleasure I could not intensify or satisfy.

“I can’t wait to get home Rachel!”
“Why darling?”
“So that I can snuggle you! …Without causing an accident that is…”

I smiled broadly, knowing exactly what he meant by the word “snuggle”.