The wife

I have been so many things in life. But I've never been 'the wife'. And I hope I'll never be 'the wife'. Because once a girl becomes 'the wife', then it means opening the door to a lot. I think it's rude of a man to call his wife 'the wife' for starters. She should be his partner, the one he shares his life with, the one he'll grow old with. Yeah right. That's what should be. Reality is sometimes very different. And of course I know that there must be such couples like that out there. But I don't think I've ever met them. I think they must have grown so very old that they've died now. Because there must be a reason why so many married men have never said, well, no. Or perhaps I've just met the sad married population of man. But then again perhaps I am a wife. Sharing your life with a man makes you a wife. Or does it? The problem is when it becomes official. Everything is a problem when it becomes official. You're 15 and desperate to be 16. Then suddenly you're 16 and that's a problem because you so desperately want to be 18. Then you're desperate to be seen as an adult. And yet again suddenly you want to be young again. Because once you're officially 36, you start fibbing the little white lies. You're in kindergarten and so desperately want to be in Junior school. Then you want to be in Senior School. Then you live for the day when you can burn your uniform. And yet you still stay in school because now it's an option. Same as in status. Marriage, we call that a status. That's in every application, even when you're applying to be a witch with a magic broom. And when you come to tick the little boxes, marriage is always on top. I don't know why. Perhaps because marriage is a lot about being on top? When I was younger I used to tick the single box and want to scream. Now I tick the single box and smile. Because when you're not 'the wife' you know exactly what your man is up to. You're called 'a lover'. And that's such a more attractive word than 'the wife' innit? You get to be taken out all the time. You do not have to have dinner ready. You don't even have to do the laundry. You get to enjoy long lazy nights of this and that. You get to enjoy dinners and outings. Because sometimes men are tired of being married to women on top. So they go for the single one, they tick the bottom box. It doesn't mean that you're beneath them. It just means we're not 'the wife'. We're the ones 'on the side'. Oh dear, how wrong that is. Because we're never at the side, just so very much at the centre, and dare I say, we're the ones on top too.

Screening

I keep screening the phone and not picking up. Thank God for caller-id stuff. It's saving me the hassle of having to talk to my mother in law. And I hate talking to her because it'll be a rant and a rave of what a sorry state she's in, and how she cannot stand her husband of almost 50 years. And she wants me to sympathize. I don't. She married him in less than a year on the pretext that she wanted children when still young. Serves her right. She doesn't even bother who she's hurting with her words. So now she made the wrong choice 50 years ago... then she should either up and leave or shut up and lump it. The same woman is always in a sorry state, she always has to insist she's very poor, she forgets that I've seen all the antiques in there and that it doesn't take a genius to figure out that anybody having a 5 bedroomed house cannot be poor. She also has a bad effect on me, she makes me angry. I do not smile at her over the phone (if that is a thing that could exist), many times I've sent her f***ing. But she pretends she hasn't heard anything. I've told her plenty of times that once a parent, always a parent, but that she never hears also. And she angers me in a way few can. So I've stopped answering the phone. Before I used to think that perhaps she might need help, I mean she's no youngster. Now, I don't care, I think of myself first. Because after hearing her voice, it's me who needs help in the form of either going there and shaking her hard, or needing anger management classes. So she can sit by the phone in her transparent nightie and try and call. I will not pick up. If she needs help then she can call 911 or whatever that translates to in Malta. Although it's a good think she hasn't discovered that yet. I pity the people taking her call. She really could call just to tell them about her minestra gone bad, or about her husband's bazwa. She would be able even to call them for Catholic confession. Nothing surprises me about this woman. And yet she goes about life singing praises about her very good daughter in law. The same daughter in law who tells her a 'mur hudu f'*******' quite often. Crafty woman. I'd be going round singing praises to a mother in law who took all responsibility too. She's even gone to mental health professionals just to talk about me and says I'm a saint. The woman blabs too much and is a criminal danger once she has a phone in her hand. She will blab about everything, including her kid's private parts. Really. she's told me about the size of her son's (not my boyfriend's) privates. No kidding. She's even told me about her 78 year old husband's badgering for sex. It's disgusting. She wants to tell me if she's constipated and she wants to tell me how the doctor relieved her. I never tell her anything, and yet she still manages to go on the bloody Radju Maria on the pretext of praying for her daughter in law who is suffering from this and that. Incredible. I want to kill her, but I'm not doing time for such an idiot. I will not even tolerate her. On the very odd moments that I do pick up because the sun is glaring at my phone screen and I've not seen the number very well, she'll ask me why I don't ever go there. And I tell her why. It's because I don't want to go 500 years back in time. It's because I'm done with her need for attention. She can go and find it elsewhere. I do not need to know about her son's privates, or her daughter's strange breasts. I've better things to do. And hey I'm classy. So, I screen.

Three sisters

I never wanted a sister in my life. I would tell my mother so. And she says I would say it with authority at 5 years old. I guess I was happy with a brother present from day one. No sisters, thank you very much. I don't think I even wanted another brother either, but I never thought about that. The sister thing was enough. And yet now I've got three of them. It happened very quickly, and no they're not quadruplets, and I didn't even go looking for them. Funny thing is, they all have boy's names too. I have an Adrian, a Josef and a Nigel. And they proclaim themselves to be my sisters. And now, and only now, I accept gracefully. They know about Chanel and Louis Vitton. They know all about makeup and shoes. They know about Cavalli, and can make up a skirt in five minutes. Honestly. They can also upstyle my hair in less than that. They wear skirts sometimes, when the last time I wore a skirt was probably 15 years ago and I haven't got a skirt to save my life. They have one thing in common with me though; they all love men, although they seem to go for younger ones. They have a hysterical laugh, hell they are more feminine than I am. And that makes them sisters, only they think that the abbreviation for sisters is sissies. Strange thing this.