When wives behave badly

"You can't do that, you are a married man." Carol tells you when you arrive home at 2:07am in the morning. You went out to have one with your boys. Just one innocent drink. You tried. Just like the old days. And you did your best to be home by 2:07am. Ironically all the beer you were having was congratulatory on your recent marriage.

It is not exactly a reprimand. You are still in this blissful phase, where you hardly quarrel, but her tone is a sure giveaway of a dictator Carol is about to become. You have heard that line three times since you got married. You can't play loud music in your car. You can't wear that football jersey, you are now married...

"Why can't men come home when they want, it is not like I was doing anything wrong, just a drink with the boys," you want to ask her. But you figured out that is exactly how the First World War was started. People have been divorced for less.

"I especially don't like Mike, he is the one who likes hanging out, he is now old, he should marry or leave other people's husbands out of his escapades," she says as she rolls inside the blanket, and moves as far as possible. Recently, she has said she doesn't like the smell of alcohol. That may be a code language for you to sleep on the couch.

"I want to sleep, please don't be too noisy," she says then sleeps. Being Carol, that means, you have to float around the house, quite literally. Carol has a short fuse and she infects you with fear (could be anxiety).

So, you go to the sitting room. You lay on the sofa, one leg on the armrest and you wonder why exactly you can't hang out. Why do women hate when their husbands are out there? More than half the time, the men are not up to any mischief. Just enjoying the drink, some bit of club hopping or cracking stale college jokes.

So, you collapse on the sofa and it is 7am when she wakes you up that she wants to give the carpet to the laundry and clean up the sitting room, "would you sleep on the bed?" The tone is that of a military commander and you are not given much room to say anything. You obligingly walk to bed, trying to be calm, and collected. But you stagger, just so slightly and sleep on the bed with your clothes on. You just want to sleep, even as the drinks you mixed the previous night are pounding your head like no woman's business.

Carol likes listening to gospel music on Sundays. On loud. So, this Sunday is no exception and she turns up to the maximum. But you have no right to complain. You toss and turn in bed, but the volume is insufferable. When you request that she turns down a bit, she shuts the music down and you don't know where she disappears to.

When you wake up, close to midday, the house is deserted, there is no breakfast, and you don't even know. You used to think good wives will bring you some pain killer and give you a cold Sprite to calm the hangover, but in less than a month, you have learnt that Carol is just like every other woman.

Of course you have heard men, rant and rave about these stories in the bar, but you never thought that it was coming your way this soon.

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