Dating a man and the ‘boys’

So you have finally landed the girl of your dreams, in a come-we-stay relationship. The main idea being, she has managed to bring three quarters of her wardrobe, little by little, to your apartment, over a period of time.

So you have finally landed the girl of your dreams, in a come-we-stay relationship. The main idea being, she has managed to bring three quarters of her wardrobe, little by little, to your apartment, over a period of time.

This is your average idea of marital bliss; a good job, a nice house, a fancy car, and finally someone to occupy the co-driver’s seat permanently.

Come Friday, and trouble begins. It’s the traditional boy’s night out, bar hopping and getting drowned in different types of lager.

You are rest assured that you will have someone to open your door past midnight, warm your dinner, and make available a glass of fresh juice to quencher the hangover next morning.

Before you are granted permission, you say: “Darling, the boys and I are going to have a chat.” You say the word ‘chat’ like it is the United Nations General Assembly going to sit.

“Isn’t it supposed our special evening honey?” say asks. 

“I would love to but I can’t let the boys down. You see these people would break a neck for me. But don’t worry darling, we will have a whole weekend together.” You reply. With that settled, the night is yours to paint the town red. The boys are laughing at you.

“You just hanged yourself, man. Marriage?”

One for the road, with stories of high school romance flowing, wicked comments flying to the cute waitress serving, becomes three, five, seven bottles and its two o’clock in the morning when you knock on your door to be let in, reeking beer, you wait for dinner as you catch up with world news on CNN and by the time it arrives you are already snoring on your favorite sofa.

Saturday morning, “Honey, remember today is our special day, 1st week anniversary, I want you stay home with me.” She says.

“Of course darling, but you know Man United will be thrashing Arsenal today and I just have to be there.” She sulks.

“Ok, but make it a point to be home immediately after.”

You conclude with a huge grin, “Cross my heart.”

By the time its over, United has won by three goals to one, and only one thing is on your mind. A celebration. Beer, noise and more beer, and six hours later, at midnight, you arrive to knock at your door.

“How could you forget?”Darling, we won at the Emirates stadium and that is like Christmas.”

Come Sunday, she drags you to church and you manage to dose through the mass until you hear the priest saying, “Go in peace.”

You are relieved when you get into your car to drive home. The walk from church to car takes the better part of half an hour, not with all the, hi, meet my man Jim. Her hand is hooked into yours possessively so you have no option but to drag along begrudgingly.

It is also, the general message to the world, especially to all skinny, man-snatching, innocent playing damsel-in-distress devils. Keep off my man!

“Darling, I have prepared a special treat for us. We will be going for a picnic at a nice location. It will be a surprise.” Men, like dogs, can smell trouble from far, far away.

“Honey, did you know Chelsea is playing West Ham today?”

“Not again, is this soccer thing so important?”

“It is very important, darling. You see if Chelsea loses today, the title race will be thrown wide open, and if Liverpool draws, and Bolton beats…”

“Enough of this! Do I have to compete for your time with old hairy men in shorts chasing a piece of inflated leather like idle nursery school children?”

“Do you really love me?” She asks.

Yes, you know I do sweet heart. Many call it called emotional blackmail. Women have been doing this psychological warfare for about two thousand years ago, and that is called experience.

If you want a weapon of mass destruction instead of a wife in your house, never mention back the four letter word in a three word phrase (I love you). Find other ways of answering.

“Darling, you know how I feel about you. It is just that this season is going to go down to the wire. We can’t let anyone snatch the premiership from us.” You say.

“Tell me. I am I going to marry the premiership?”

They say, the “marriage” dagger is the most effective. They know when to push it into your heart and turn it with maximum effect.

“Do not speak like that, darling.”

Nobody would want to go back to the old dog days when you had to take your dirty laundry to the dobi, eat junk food form the nearest takeaway and have old newspapers lying all around on every empty space whenever family comes to visit. You pause and think of a nice compromise. You settle for a win-win situation.

“Ok, we will go but on condition that you drop me back at five at the pub so I can at least watch the second half of the match with the boys.”

To be continued…

 

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