Because I am a vain and loveless man, my wife ignores my crying and goes about her morning. She makes herself a cup of coffee, but does not offer me a cup. Perhaps this is because she sees that I already have a cup, although it is not filled with coffee. I want her to think I have been crying into the cup in hopes of getting her to give me some unearned sympathy and care, but she's more clever than that.
I shouldn't have married such a clever woman. If I had married a woman with no brains at all then my ruse would work. She would believe my empty words of love and care for me the way a man like me should be cared for. Her lack of wit wouldn't bother me either, for I am witty enough for two, or even three by my estimation. A dim bride would have been perfect for me, and I deserved a perfect bride.
But my wife was no dim bride and thus she was an imperfect one. She was the sharpest woman I'd ever met and my mother liked her a great deal. She was strong and independent and contributed more to our household income than a man like me would care to admit. But she no longer seemed to care for me. Although, I suppose I couldn't blame her. I spent most of my time on myself whether that was grooming, exercising, or booking trips that I would enjoy (sometimes without booking her a ticket) and lamented terribly when I was unable to do as I pleased. I also did not show her affection or, at times, even common courtesy. There had been more than one morning where I'd ignored her crying and offered her coffee even though she had no cup in hand.
Now we coexisted, married but not together. We orbited each other, but mostly out of habit and not out of some strong magnetic pull between the two of us. I had tried to get a mistress more than once, but I found that women who were willing wanted more from me than I could give. No, not marriage, plenty were fine without that.
(Prompt by Lisa McInerney)
Photo by Vesselin Dochkov
I shouldn't have married such a clever woman. If I had married a woman with no brains at all then my ruse would work. She would believe my empty words of love and care for me the way a man like me should be cared for. Her lack of wit wouldn't bother me either, for I am witty enough for two, or even three by my estimation. A dim bride would have been perfect for me, and I deserved a perfect bride.
But my wife was no dim bride and thus she was an imperfect one. She was the sharpest woman I'd ever met and my mother liked her a great deal. She was strong and independent and contributed more to our household income than a man like me would care to admit. But she no longer seemed to care for me. Although, I suppose I couldn't blame her. I spent most of my time on myself whether that was grooming, exercising, or booking trips that I would enjoy (sometimes without booking her a ticket) and lamented terribly when I was unable to do as I pleased. I also did not show her affection or, at times, even common courtesy. There had been more than one morning where I'd ignored her crying and offered her coffee even though she had no cup in hand.
Now we coexisted, married but not together. We orbited each other, but mostly out of habit and not out of some strong magnetic pull between the two of us. I had tried to get a mistress more than once, but I found that women who were willing wanted more from me than I could give. No, not marriage, plenty were fine without that.
(Prompt by Lisa McInerney)
Comments
Post a Comment