Why I Should Have Helped Him Pack.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn't a bit excited when Hubby mentioned he’d be travelling out of Lagos for a business trip.

I tried so hard to hide my glee but the last time my eyes shone that bright was when he surprised me with two bowls of Asun from Ojez. He was even forced to ask after he saw the way I turned excitedly “why are you looking so happy? A normal wife will at this time start crying that her husband should not leave her but you, no. I should have listened to my great grandmother and married Ramota. I’m sure she’d be making me pounded yam every morning and waking me up with my oriki”. Hian! I didn't care. At that point, I would have given Ramota to him as a second wife. 

Apart from the fact that I am yet to accept the inevitable fact that I would be the one doing all the cooking in this marriage for the next 78 years, being around my olowo ori drains my energy literally & figuratively. (save your wondering thoughts on whether he could help out once a while. This guy I'm married to ain't boiling or cooking anything harder than water or indomie so long as I bear his name) 

As the first daughter growing up with two younger sisters, I had been privileged to have a mum and elder brother who understood the Yoruba tradition of sending the younger ones so I was majorly spared the horror of cooking all the time so long as my younger siblings were home, as it was with most ladies brought up in their African home.

I'm the one on the far right with the graceful long neck.

I enjoyed cooking a lot no doubt and that must have been the phrase Hubby heard while we dated that made him visit Tiffany to get that 800 carat diamond ring and propose. (Stay there and be beefing o!) In fact, I am now convinced that my culinary skills and genuine pleasure in bringing gastronomical satisfaction to everyone around me made him decide on time that this food maker must not pass his by.

Erm, nope, that's not him but they look alike with muscles sha

Because seriously thinking about it now sef, I remembered him saying he wanted to take his time in getting married as he doesn't want to do it twice and how it was important he was making the right choice and other bla bla bla stories men lie about tell, only for me to make one plantain porridge with orisi risi at home one very cool Saturday that scattered all his earlier stalling tactics and gbam, exactly few weeks later, olori ebi had thrown the surprise proposal. (can I get a whoop whoop from them sisturz!)

Dude didn't know what hit him after eating the asaro elemi meje

Fast forward to almost two years later after exhausting every food idea I've ever known in cooking for Hubby who loves food variety with a passion and I am gradually hating the gas cooker as bad as hating to wash a pot of jollof rice or a burnt pot of amala.

It was this new grown fear of cooking that brought about the huge joy to my face when he made the announcement that he was travelling. I didn't care whether he was leaving in the morning and coming back the next morning. Whatever would prevent me from cooking dinner, having to switch off all the lights in the house every 45 mins, rearrange the room every minute would surely put the joyous Christmasey lights in my eyes.

The only mistake I made when he informed me he was travelling was not assisting him to pack his luggage right there and then. I should have simply stood from the bed when he mentioned loudly to himself at around 11:00pm “Mehn, I have not packed my load for tomorrow o”. And because I had known this guy for almost 5 years and his pattern of thoughts, I knew what was going to follow that question so I promptly shut my eyes and started snoring dramatically. And being the very liberal minded person he was, he didn't bother to disturb my fake sleep.

But apparently, I hadn't learnt my lesson with the Toast Bread & Hot Milo saga. You can catch up here.

The first sign that I had made a mistake was when I saw the light in the room come on at some few minutes before 5:00am the next day with Hubby in his usual self, very apologetic and assuring me the light would go off in some few minutes. By then, all remnants of sleep had cleared from my eyes as goign back to sleep once the light comes on is usually impossible for me. But that was all dearest Hubby needed, an awake company at that time. Because despite my glaring red eyes willfully commanding him to turn out the lights, he innocently made his usual travelling request, “Baby, please what are the things I should pack?’

I contemplated speaking coldly on the unfairness of it all and how he couldn't take it if I dish out same but Hubby is usually at his happiest in the early hours of the morning and no cold or cruel words will stick so I didn't even bother. 

I however tried maintaining a stony silence hoping he’d get his message.(get fire!) I knew I had to intervene though when I saw he had almost finished packing and had forgotten the reason he was travelling in the first place- the documents. And with a vivid image of him missing his flight or not having to travel again which means no duvet to myself, I had to supervise his final stage of packing.

And then when I thought he was done at exactly 5:25am, Hubby took to the stage,deciding it was time to do a solo audition practice for West African Idols.

He started singing! Cheerfully, joyously and in a very loud, ugly, off-key voice. (He would have lost before the male candidate that sang Chris Brown's Don't Wake Me Up during the selection stage.)

The thought of having the duvet to myself kept me in check throughout his Tarzan-happy moments. 

But suffice to say that after being married to someone for such a long time, you get used to everything that represents them, their annoyance, their nuisance value, their frustrations, their stressful but happy moments. Because the minute Hubby stepped out of the house and I closed the door, everywhere became empty, lonely and boring. And suffice to say I missed the loud, cheerful off-key singing immediately I turned the lock.

At the end of it all, that’s what marriage is all about and it’s those moments that puts sanity back into the tough and trying times that come with being married, as they would surely come. The memories we build with our spouses are the ones that bind us together in the long run and it's from these memories we tap into when our better halves get on our nerves and reminds us about those times when it was so good and make us determined to fight and regain those great moments.

The earlier the good memories are being built however, the higher the chances of being able to manage and survive the marriage storms.

Have you started building those good memories with your spouse? Because as for me, I am about to build another frustrating yet good memory as Hubby just got back this afternoon and he has already called to ask, “what am I having for lunch and dinner?” 

But really, do I have to be the one to cook for the rest of our lives together, like seriously?