Jamaicans should appreciate this one.
Scene: Dark bedroom; very early hours of the morning; air conditioner blowing colder than ghetto cruelty; there’s a couple in bed – the blankets fully cover the male, the toes of the female are sticking out from beneath the blankets, which is the only way she can sleep.
Time: 03:30 hours.
Alarm rings. Loudly.
Man to his wife: “Honey, it’s time to get up.”
Woman to her husband: “Why the &*%$#()^%claat you waking me up at this hour for? Do I look like somebody going to embassy for visa?”
Angry Women (Photo credit: steve loya)
He: “But sweetheart, is you ask me to wake you up. You-”
She, interrupting, sharply: “Is everything I ask you to do you do? I ask you not to look on other women when you go out with me, have you done that yet? When I ask you to go jump off a cliff, do you jump?”
He: “But love, remember you ask me to wake-”
She, interrupting, again: “When the &8&^%$ did I ask you that?”
I knew that at that moment in time she was likely to deny the Holocaust, the birth of Christ, the Presidency of George Bush, the existence of her children and more. So I didn’t respond.
I calmed myself, then gently reminded her, “Love, it’s your first day on the new job, you have an appointment with-”
“With who?” she cut in abruptly. “With who would I have an appointment at this hour? With the devil? You think even him wake up yet?”
“You are going to work at your new-”
“What are you telling me about work at this hour? Do I look like a slave? Do you see any cotton trees outside? You see any canes? Isn’t it only slaves that work at this hour?”
I decided to leave it alone. Sooner or later she’d calm down.
A minute went by, with excruciating slothfulness.
She was still in the bed, fussing, but slowly budging.
I remained quiet.
I became a superhuman.
I became a horse, in meditation. I thought about many things, but quietly.
I didn’t know what was going to be for breakfast, but I knew, with certainty, that I would have to make it myself.
She sat up suddenly on her side of the bed. I saw that the little old man who’s always on her shoulder was still there, speaking softly into her ear. Whispering devious things! I hate that devil!
I remained silent.
She: “So you’re quiet now? You’re in church now? Pastor is preaching about your sins now?”
She was relentless.
There were very few things I could have done at that moment that would have been smarter than keeping my mouth shut.
I kept my mouth shut.
“So when I go to work at these hours of the morning, what are you going to do? Call over one of your women?”
Me: “What woman I have, love? What you talking b-”
She: “You think that I am a fool? Your name is MAN, and all of you are the same. But I don’t join that kind of church! So remember that.”
She got up.
The storm was subsiding.
She went to the bathroom, in the process committing an error that you can often get away with at home, but rarely in public: she never checked to see if there was any tissue before using the loo.
A minute later: “Where’s the tissue? You finish the tissue and didn’t put any back?” [I write a question sign here but it didn’t sound like a question the way she said it.]
It was supposed to be her first day on a new job. I hoped she would keep this one longer than the last one.
I thought to myself: I will stay with her for as long as I live.
Then, while she was still in the toilet, I mumbled softly: “There is no one else in this world like you, my love.”
She thought she heard something. “Are you talking about me out there? What are you saying?”
Me, smiling: “I’m not talking about you, love. I’m just on the phone talking to Janet.”
She: “Don’t play those *&^%$ jokes with me! *&^%$#@!&^%$) (*&^%$#@!#$%^&**()))**&.”