The telenovella omnibus that is my life continues

There are those times when a man’s dignity is worth more than the food his wife serves him at dinner. Gentlemen, whenever I start waxing philosophical, know that I am getting inspiration from none other than Michelle.

I might decide to write a book detailing all experiences, unpleasant, hostile and downright nasty, that I have suffered in the hands of this woman. And I have scars that I wear to show that I indeed have been victim, whereas her skin is smooth and flawless.

And this should not be misunderstood to mean that I get Nyerified every once in a while by my wife. Oh no sir, I am bigger and stronger than her, and could win a fight against her effortlessly if she did not hit below the belt.

Problem is, she does this all the time. The final blow that might knock me out for the count has everything to do with the TV Blackout.
Now, it happens that Michelle’s favourite shows are those badly scripted telenovellas I hate. I believe the woman is a romantic at heart. The type of girl who is in love with love. Maybe if I was macho like those hombres she watches all day, she would fall in love with me.

But my machismo and charm dribbled out of me with the falling of my hair. Now even the woman who should be calling me ‘bebs’ or ‘sweery’ simply refers to me as Mzee Kipara, just like touts along our route.

Last night, missus had just about had enough of staring at a blank TV. She started by accusing me of being too stingy with my money. “Hata hujawahi kutuwekea DSTV,” she said.

I reminded her that the decision against pay TV was mutual when we decided to send her son to school instead. “Remember we agreed it is not a priority,” I jogged her memory.

“But the era of free TV is gone,” she reasoned. I then reminded her that her son, who sat his KCSE last year required something to do before he could join college. “But it was your idea to send him to Obliviation Institute because you know certificates there are cheap,” she complained reminding me that a woman needs quality once in a while. “But you got me. Michelle. That shows you got class,” she almost puked at that.

When she overcame the nausea, however, she had a great idea. If I could pretend and act like a Spanish gentleman, that would get me close. A tall order this one. I have to act like Alejandro. We have to behave like we are casting in “La Perfecto Matrimonio”.

“Timbuktu please humour me just this once. I swear I will love you for it. Just spoil me ‘kiasi’,” she begged.

I did not know how but found myself agreeing. Of course, it started immediately. I had to massage her feet soon after serving her breakfast. “And kindly look as though you love your job,” she suggested.
In my community, men do not kiss the toes of women leave alone their wives. “Timbuktu ‘haki unalose’ points,” she warned. Pull up your socks!” I felt like reminding her that I didn’t have socks as my wife loses all the pairs I buy but held my tongue.

We then went shopping where I had to carry all the groceries and pay for them. What was surprising, however, is that this woman was just getting started. She then wanted to be taken to a movie, then dinner in a fancy restaurant and get bought chocolates and flowers.
But the last straw that broke the camel’s back was when she declared after everything that the dishes had to be done before went to bed. “I have never slept with dirty dishes in my life and I do not intend to start now,” she declared.

“So what’s stopping you from doing them yourself?” I asked her.
“Michelle,I fondled your feet, carried your bags but will never do dishes. I had better buy that digital set top box than put up with this charade,” I declared.

“Not tomorrow when it is a 24-hour economy.” We drove to those 24-hour store in town and bought a decoder. When I asked her whether I could go back to being me, she said I was a very poor excuse of a hombre and would not be missed. She stayed watching her soaps the whole night.