Suddenly my toes became a problem. Every time I bent down to wear my socks she would jeer and curse the day she met me.
On days I tried trimming them in her presence, she would puke, literally. From a far, I would hear her abuse the neighbour’s child.
“Look at you all looking like my husband’s big toe nails,” she would spit.
I had also grown fat. So fat I was no longer the ‘my shubububu bear.”
Extremely fat in her eyes, the bear hugs and cuddles in the beginning were for naught. Aances to make love were met with ‘who do you want to crash with all that weight?’
Or, ‘you think I am a mattress?’
That’s when I knew something was amiss.
Someone with better toe nails had entered the picture frame. Someone leaner, and fitter.
That hurt. But not as much as knowing that a three-year relationship was going down the drain because of black-hardened toe nails. And a few kilos of fresh mainly around the stomach.
I was desperate to fight for it, for us.
So I showed her all the love I showed during courtship well knowing that the only thing that could try and ease her anger was more love. I bought more presents, went for those ‘mani-pedi thingies’, stopped hanging with the boys till late in the night. All this, with the view that with time, loving her more and taking care of my nails would kill the hatred she had so suddenly developed. It did not.
Instead she spent more and more hours out. Got interested in the day-to-day running of Arsenal. If she wasn’t kicking the neighbour’s chicken, she discussed the Turkey-Russian tensions and why Kobe Bryant will never be Michael Jordan. On top of reading, she even ditched Telemundo for Nat Geo Wild.
Her new found love for things she detested earlier was more puzzling than her hatred for my toe nails.
I met him once. She introduced him as Jeniffer’s boyfriend.
“You remember, Jeniffer my OG from primary school, right?” she asked.
I didn’t remember any Jeniffer because she rarely talked about her friends. I doubt she had any.
With each sentence he uttered, he rubbed her back. She giggled and blushed under the neon lights of the bar. I had never seen her this happy.
I do not even know why I was happy she was happy. Maybe partly because ‘guy without a name’ was contributing towards getting me drunker. Once in a while she would tell me how he had just told the funniest ‘why did the chicken cross the road joke.’
As the night wound down, I excused myself for the bathroom. When I returned, he was lying on the floor, hardly breathing. She was screaming for help no one seemed comfortable to provide.
Luckily, he survived the heart attack after one of the bar patrons rushed him to a hospital.
The experience left her too shaken she went back to watching Fearless Heart on Telemundo and preparing meals. On my side, there was no remorse whatsover for the nameless fella. Because me and my toe nails had won my girl back.
SOURCE: DAILY MONITOR