AY, MY WIFE!

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See that title up there? Can you say it in a Luo accent? You can? Alright; say it out loud. Now say it again, without laughing.
Yeah, that’s what (and how) Mr. Nice Guy calls me all the time; and it never fails to make me smile. I still find it strange that I’m someone’s legal wife. I never thought I was the “marrying type.” I never thought I’d be leaving home for work, smiling because I managed to make breakfast for le husband; or leave work for home wondering what I’m cooking that night.
 
It’s a bit strange, this feeling of wedded bliss. Strange in a good way. The morning kiss, the smile that greets me when I finally manage to crack an eye open, the other kiss when I get home. Hell, I’ve never gotten so many kisses in my life! But it’s pretty damn awesome; I can tell you that. 
A couple of people have asked me how it feels to be married. I haven’t a clue how to answer that question. I usually just avoid it with some wise crack; or ask them how it feels to be single/dating. I don’t get it. Am I supposed to feel different now that I’m married? Should I be overcome with motherly instinct (because that’s what the women around my mother think is the next logical step), or suddenly be more “responsible” (whatever the hell that means), or more conservative? Really, should I? Married people I am asking you a question so answer me!
I need to know because I’m determined to be me throughout this whole thing. I’m under no illusion that marriage requires a helluva lot of things (sijui patience, compromise, etc) but I just want to have fun with it. I still want to wear my short clothes and unreasonably high heels; I want to meet my friends when and where I feel like without wondering what Mr. Nice Guy will have for dinner (I figure he didn’t starve as a single bachelor, he won’t starve now); I still want to indulge in the warmth that silence and a good book bring and I still want to not have to cook every single day.
 
In fact, let’s talk about this cooking thing for a minute. Y’all know I love to eat, right? Food has a special place in my heart, on my tongue; a less special one in my stomach (which looked alarmingly large during the honeymoon, to my horror), my arms and my thighs. Food and I have a love/hate relationship, and I’m cool with that. I’m also cool with cooking. I can spend hours watching cooking shows and poring over recipes, I love plating a well cooked meal and I am obsessed with making sure Mr. Nice Guy likes my food.
 
But I’m finding that it’s not easy having to figure out what meal will be had every night. I’ve gone straight from living with my large family and being assured of a good meal every night courtesy of my folks’ house help, to being responsible for not one, but two stomachs every night! I think having the house help spoiled me. I miss her so much!
 
But then I also don’t want to let another woman cook for Mr. Nice Guy. Not yet anyway. It’s too soon. Call it vanity. Or fear of competition. Call it whatever you want; I’m just not ready! So what do I do? I cook large meals when I can. I cook enough to feed six and have some leftovers. Then I refry these leftovers a gazillion different styles and voila, we get to eat one “base” meal several different ways. It’s the equivalent of having a nice, versatile piece of clothing that you can wear seven ways – something like a plain white tee – and who doesn’t love that?
 
I also take advantage of nights out and visits to friends’ houses. The other day we visited a married friend of ours and Mr. Nice Guy attempted to ask me to serve a modest portion “because he wasn’t very hungry” and was already on his first drink. I wasn’t having any of that. So I completely ignored him and served him a full size portion because I wasn’t going to deal with his hunger – or mine – early in the morning.
 
We’ve come into this thing free styling. We haven’t done our marriage counseling classes yet – though the church is not letting us get away with it; we’ve paid for them so we don’t miss out and we’re going to go. We don’t like losing money – and we’ve not been reading self-help books about how to make a marriage last. So what’s our plan? We’re going to wing it and do what feels right to us. We’re going to laugh and eat, I’m going to keep ironing his shirt collars correct (the house help can iron the rest of the garment) and he’s going to keep calling me “My Wife” in that Luo accent, and we’re going to live happily ever after.
 
Mr. Nice Guy, happy 5-week anniversary, here’s to an eternity of laughter!
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