Wednesday, April 26, 2006
Trophy Wife
by venitha
Stuck at home to enable ceiling leak repair (we can all be very thankful we don't own this place), I scowled at myself in the mirrored living room wall: a frizzy frumpy housewife. How did this become my life? Then I remembered that in addition to being a kept woman, I am now also blonde, and I perked right up: I am a trophy wife!
I looked with new interest at my reflection in the mirror and beyond to the four, yes, four men here to repair the leak: one to swathe the dining room in layers of plastic, to drill very large holes in the ceiling, to stuff unidentifiable things into the holes, to plaster over the holes, and to repaint the ceiling; one to move large machinery around noisily in the entryway; one to hiss vulgarities or to whisper sweet nothings (these sound the same in Mandarin) on his handphone; and one to translate for me (alas, not his cohort's one-sided handphone conversation).
All four fine specimen were here to do my bidding, no? Bwa ha ha ha! Sadly, my t-shirt, khaki shorts, and bare feet were inappropriate for my new diva identity. If only I had a pair of marabou feather mules, I sighed. I made a mental note regarding my next Mustafa shopping trip, decided attitude is everything, stood up on my tiptoes, and grabbed the bull by the horns.
Might I show you something... back here? I crooked my finger and led the way down the hall to the leaking toilet. Again, we can all be very thankful we don't own this place.
Might you also paint the bedroom ceiling? No, silly, not beige! I batted my eyelashes and got them to put a second coat over their handiwork from the bedroom leak repair last fall. Seriously, we can all be very thankful we don't own this place.
My, what a big drill you have. Might you drill a hole... here? Hanging pictures in Singapore requires far more macho swagger than can be achieved with a hammer and a nail. No kidding: we can all be very thankful we don't own this place, what with renters drilling holes in the walls willy nilly.
After closing the door on my gentlemen callers, I kicked off my mules and flopped down on the couch, adding bonbons and peeled grapes to my mental Mustafa shopping list. Appropriate as it would be to be starved to perfection, I shall need sustenance. This trophy wife-dom is hard work.
venitha
I looked with new interest at my reflection in the mirror and beyond to the four, yes, four men here to repair the leak: one to swathe the dining room in layers of plastic, to drill very large holes in the ceiling, to stuff unidentifiable things into the holes, to plaster over the holes, and to repaint the ceiling; one to move large machinery around noisily in the entryway; one to hiss vulgarities or to whisper sweet nothings (these sound the same in Mandarin) on his handphone; and one to translate for me (alas, not his cohort's one-sided handphone conversation).
All four fine specimen were here to do my bidding, no? Bwa ha ha ha! Sadly, my t-shirt, khaki shorts, and bare feet were inappropriate for my new diva identity. If only I had a pair of marabou feather mules, I sighed. I made a mental note regarding my next Mustafa shopping trip, decided attitude is everything, stood up on my tiptoes, and grabbed the bull by the horns.Might I show you something... back here? I crooked my finger and led the way down the hall to the leaking toilet. Again, we can all be very thankful we don't own this place.
Might you also paint the bedroom ceiling? No, silly, not beige! I batted my eyelashes and got them to put a second coat over their handiwork from the bedroom leak repair last fall. Seriously, we can all be very thankful we don't own this place.
My, what a big drill you have. Might you drill a hole... here? Hanging pictures in Singapore requires far more macho swagger than can be achieved with a hammer and a nail. No kidding: we can all be very thankful we don't own this place, what with renters drilling holes in the walls willy nilly.
After closing the door on my gentlemen callers, I kicked off my mules and flopped down on the couch, adding bonbons and peeled grapes to my mental Mustafa shopping list. Appropriate as it would be to be starved to perfection, I shall need sustenance. This trophy wife-dom is hard work.
venitha
