A fishy marriage

He heard her clapping the computer and guessed she would come fuming to the kitchen. A split of a second later, there she was, opening the fridge and taking out the fish she bought that morning at the weekly market and looked at it.

“Why they wrote the name in French, when it is just a common seabass? Deceiving the customers like that…,” she said loud, with flushed cheeks. Her husband, from the kitchen table where he was still sipping his second cup of sugared tea, threw a glance in her direction but refrained from commenting. He felt sorry for her. He often felt sorry for her, which felt better than feeling sorry for himself for being married to her. Had there be a sign that she would turn out to become an easily overwhelmed and confused middle-aged woman? There was a phase where he thought he had to run away, far from the rollercoaster of moods and bewildered tales of rudeness, misunderstanding and outright cheating. A time when he almost pushed his best friend in his wife´s arms, but he then realized that he would miss his friend very much, had the match be successful. Luckily in her confusion his wife took his best friend´s attention as a sign of early dementia and eagerly recommended a good hospice, wonderfully equipped for that kind of problems, you know, they have a 24-hours reception desk and you can keep pieces of your best furniture, of course and yes, they have a large common room for meals, exquisitely decorated, it feels like having dinner in his own dining room, and she knows because her cousin´s friend stays there and she went to see her.

He smiled and shook his head at the memory, right when his wife looked at him.

“You think it is funny that your wife has been cheated?” she asked, her cheeks still hot.

“No, my dear. I was thinking about the lovely fish meal we are going to have tonight,” he said, his words pouring on her ego like honey balm. Another lie, like millions he told her every month. They were just little lies, to keep her happy and himself sane in that relationship which stopped working years ago. He felt a little guilty, but wasn’t he doing a good deed, keeping HER company? What would she otherwise do, this small, unattractive middle-aged woman? He felt he had come to peace with being trapped in this mediocre marriage. He drank a sip of his coffee only slightly aware that the real prison was built on laziness and fear of loneliness.

error: Content is protected !!