It is an everyday scene, on countless beds, in countless homes. I fail to understand, what IS it about men and their wet towels? I mean, men, and their wet towels tossed on beds. No, the men are not tossed on the beds, their towels are… oh, you know what I mean! So, I see that towel and something snaps off in my chaotic mind. And, let me tell you, at such times, no amount of deep breathing and reverse counting helps. So, bellowing a thousand curses, the angel-turned she-devil goes charging at hubby,who is coolly preening and posing in front of the mirror!
Is he getting ready for office, or is he planning to go on a date with some popsy? the mind wonders, going off at a tangent. But, hey, no digressing here! He needs to be shown where the wet towel goes after use. I pick up the object of my irritation and stand in the doorway, tapping my foot impatiently. And, as I stand there, holding the towel between two fingers (like I would a cockroach), hubby looks up with indifference, and asks, “What’s it? Is the breakfast ready? I am getting late.” He hurries to zip up, and zoom out of the room, leaving me standing there, holding the towel and feeling like an idiot!
I charge at him, “Hello! Can’t you see I have something that belongs to you, that is not supposed to be where it was found? Hellooo!!” Did my mutterings go unheard? No, they didn’t. Those mutterings were pretty audible. Audible enough for something to snap off in that male mind. I hang the damn towel to dry on the clothes stand and, sensing the heat in the moment, go back to being an obedient wife, rushing to the kitchen to serve hubby his meals; the past ‘wet’ incident pushed under the carpet.
I clear my throat and with a sugary-sweet voice ask,” Ahem, how’s the sabzi? It’s your favourite!” My ears strain to hear the applause (I prepared it just like his mum used to, after all. I deserve the praise!) But, alas! I hear none! I repeat my query and he repeats his silence. Now, what is the matter with him? I didn’t pursue the wet-towel-on-bed matter any further, did I? No! Then what IS it? I ask out of curiosity. Correction. I ask, tremblingly, out of curiosity (well, I am the docile, obedient Bhartiya naari, after all; no prolonged fights with my angry young man! ). And, out comes the retort, “You didn’t have to make such a big deal out of a bloody wet towel, as if it’s some crime! It isn’t everyday that I do it, do I?” And, in a huff, hubby is out of the house, leaving me standing there, with my mouth agape!
The bellowed curses did have an effect, after all! Yessssssss! So, from now on, no wet towels on the bed! Yayy!! I do a little winner’s jig, but suddenly stop midway.
In the history of mankind, has any man ever hung his wet towel to dry?
…or, capped the toothpaste after use?
or cleaned up the bathroom after his bath?
or cleared away his plates after eating?
or picked up his clothes and put them in the laundry?
or left the toilet seat down?
or, or, or…
To every question on the list, the answer is NO. So, what am I dancing for?
I go back to clear away his plates, put away his clothes, and complete his half done tasks. And, I deduce, that because God couldn’t be everywhere, He made mothers. And, because mothers couldn’t be everywhere, He made wives! ; )
Categories: Reflective Writing