I'd always thought that if and when I ever got married, I'd be the PERFECT WIFE. The perfect docile wife, that is. I'm ordinarily quite even-natured, so I'd imagined myself as easy-going and relaxed with my husband, always ready with a smile and an encouraging word. Not that I'd be at his every beck and call, of course. No,no, this is the 21st century after all, and I'm my own woman. But somehow in my mind's eye, I saw myself as sweet and obliging, slow to anger and quick to forgive. In short, a delight to be with. Who was I fooling? (Actually, him, because that was the image of myself I had painted to him, pre-marriage.) Just 10 months into marriage and I'm afraid I'm turning into a Tiger Wife. Yup, that's the spousal equivalent of Amy Chua's infamous Tiger Mom.
Slowly and stealthily, I have drawn up a list of rules which I want him to live by. The list is growning by the day, but for now my edicts are: >No durian - unless I am eating it too.>Only one prata at a time - although it's okay if I eat two. >No chicken skin.>No duck skin.>No fatty pork bits.> No snacking in the kitchen when you come home because when you're tired and hungry, you'll pile on unnecessary calories by eating anything that's there.
>No preserved plums - only pregnant women eat sng buay.> No more ah boling, that sweet, starchy Chinese dumpling dessert you so like.>And finally, no motorbike - at least not until your daughter turns 21. I don't care that she's now only five.As you can tell, my rules - like that of Amy Chua's Tiger Mom's rules - are hinged on tough love. I want him to eliminate the fatty, salty and sweet bits in his diet because I want him to be healthy. I don't want him to ride a motorbike because it's unsafe. I don't want him to eat durians because it makes his breath stink. Besides, the fruit is very high in calories and I've always had a phobia that there is a link between eating too many durians and a stroke. That at least, was what happened to my late father. The problem is, I give him mixed signals. I want him to eat healthily, yet I'm an unhealthy eater myself. I don't like him to snack, yet I'm an incorrigible snacker. It's okay when I stuff myself but I get worked up when he does.
One recent Saturday night,we decided to go to Geylang for supper.We headed for the popular beef horfun stall, had a nice meal there, after which I announced that we should top it off by eating durians at a roadside stall nearby."Really? Durians?" he said, surprised as that's a fruit I rarely eat and he knows my views on it. Yes, I said, it'll be fun eating at a stall so late at night. Besides, I had a craving for it. It was a rare treat for both of us and I thought that that was that, then, no more durians for, say, one year. The next day, however, when I was still at work, he came home with a box of the fruit - and demolished all of it. The smell was lingering when I got back, and he confessed to it. I gave him my how-could-you look and embarked on my anti-durian tirade.
I said : You know it's so unhealthy for you, we just had it over the weekend, wasn't that enough, it's so smelly and fattening, do you want to put on weight and do you want to get a stroke? He said : But we ate it the other night. Anyway, I won that round because I told him that I simply can't tolerate stinky durian breath - which meant no goodnight kisses that night.Was I being unreasonable? Am I turning into that most reviled of household creatures, The Naggy Wife?
A friend told me that in all her eight years of marriage, she has never once questioned her husband on anything he ate. He's a grown man,she said, adding for good measure: Don't nag. Men hate that. Why can't I be more like her?Chilled and relaxed and non-controlling? It's not just his diet that can trigger me off, and he has learnt to read the signals - a sudden frostiness, a petulant twist of the mouth, a flash in the eyes. It happened again one morning when he was seized with the idea that we should check out the Tree Top Walk at MacRitchie. He'd gone there once before, loved it and wanted me to experience it.
It'll be too hot, I whined. He assured me that the forest trail was very shady.He was right. But what he hadn't told me was that it was 4.5km hike to the Tree Top, after which you walk another 1 km or so before making the 4.5km trek back. As noon approached, I got more and more bothered and irritated. Worse, I found out that his idea of a hike is to stroll together, admire the trees and take in the different smells. Mine is to burn as many calories as I can in the shortest time possible. I ended up walking way ahead of him. Why are you walking so slowly? I asked, turning around. A hike's meant to give your heart a workout. I added :Your cardio level isn't very good, is it? (Yes, it does sound like an unkind remark, but I was actually displaying tough love; I wanted to goad him to walk faster so he'll reap the cardio benefits.)
I suppose I behave the way I do because he lets me get away with it. I also want to see how far I can go in testing his patience and love. Mostly, though, I nag because I care for him and want what's good for him. I asked him the other day if he thought I was too bossy and fierce. No, he said, you're you. Besides, you're cute when you're cross. Oh, I said. It was hard to find a retort to that.But I still don't like you eating durians, I added, wanting the last word. But the durian is my favourite fruit, he reasoned. Unfavourite it then, I replied.At which point we looked at each other, amazed at the RIDICULOUSNESS of what I had just said, and burst out laughing. There's only so far a person can go before ferocity becomes just plain silly.And I guess so long as we both can see the funny side of my Tiger Wife antics, things are - and will be - ALL RIGHT. - Straits Times/ANN.
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