A cinema date with the husband

Chilling it out after the cinema fiasco... Dubai winter lifts your spirits

  

There is no new beginning, as I had mentioned in my previous post, yet there is that much to renew or start over again or anew.  It’s just in your mind’s eye.

So to begin with, I skimmed through last year's posts and discovered that a flimsy one on husband-wife relationship did the most numbers. [Click here to read] As much as I am thankful to the readers for visiting my page, I owe an apology to each one for dishing out such a half-baked stuff over the top of my keyboard for some sadistic pleasure.

Now, taking the pleasure forward sans the sad-ticks, here I am to say it the way I see it. No malice, no prejudice, intended. It’ll be only me ticking the wry thoughts off anyone and anything that eeks…

Well, one look around my workplace in the New Year and I see…

Pretenders still whiling their time ‘n’ workaholics still sweating their arse…

Drama queens continuing to squeal their presence ‘n’ self-proclaimed kings dicing cubes…

I continue to have loads of entertainers around!

That reminds me, I started the year at the cinema with my lovely girl, my loving man and my lol-of-a-friend.

We headed to one of the oldest cinema houses in Dubai, which is two-tiered, and located on the busiest streets of the city. A place I’ve frequented a dozen times over.

The show started at 7.30pm and we landed there sharp 7.40pm. We three pretty women hopped out at the entrance and dashed to the counter as the husband went parking.

With an ear on the dialogues booming inside, another replying to the incessant jabber of my girl, one eye at the closed door and another at the ticket issuer, I folded my thumb inside my palm and lifted four fingers of my right hand against the glass window, with the left placating my tummy that was rising and falling from the inadvertent exercise of rushing in.

Did he ask for cash? I can’t exactly remember, nevertheless I forwarded Dh100… not knowing any better.

The considerate security urged me to go in saying I’ve already missed more than 10 minutes of the movie. “What’s your husband’s name? Just leave one ticket with me, madam.” And he directed me into the dark hall.

Within minutes, my man arrived. I cozied up closer but found him unusually hot.

“Why the hell are you in here?” he hissed amid the blaring sound.

“You dropped me on the street for a stroll!” I teased

“Look at the crowd…and…the seats...this…our neck will pain…” he was visibly irritated attempting to position his long legs.

“What’s wrong with you. It’s you who wanted to watch this…”

“Yes. It’s me. But when have we sat down…”

Shucks!

Was it the sudden heat of realization, his anger or the pest, I started itching my elbow… “Yes, you can take home bugs as well for free from here…can’t use brains…”

I walked out and requested a transfer to the balcony. They would not comply.

I pulled out two notes and requested for new balcony seats and they said that the ticker was closed. It can’t be opened without permission and that their manager was not around. I stood three minutes tapping my scattered brains and checking my emotions before sneaking back… and I caught a restless husband.

“What took you so long. I was about to come out looking for you. Now relax. Enjoy the movie! ”

I did not.

Each time the unruly crowd booed and cheered louder, I sneaked a glance sideways. After a few times, he whispered, “Happens. Forget it.” Then he got closer, and taking my hands, said, “My fault. I should have reminded you…”

That moment I felt instantly better.

Taking responsibility is the key to a healthy relationship!!!

Sh…oo…sh! Dont analyse...it's just a saying!

You may want to read an earlier incident: When he lifted me off my feet...Click here 

Hello! Are you Miss, Ms or Mrs?

Interestingly, it is one of my male friends whom I have to thank for this column. A cartoon he shared on this page was titled - 'Oh she's not working. She's a housewife'.

We have mortals who believe women who do not earn a living do no work. Changing their rusted mindset would be a herculean task. So how about a change in addressing women instead?

If a married woman who stays at home is called a housewife, then one who goes out to work should have the name of the organisation prefixed to her name. Fair enough?

A married woman employee should be called AppleTech wife, Vidya Bhavan wife, Munu’s Auto Garage wife, Hotel Chin Chu wife…

It has more than one advantage. If you do not like your spouse’s name or are tired of your family name, voila! you get a new name. You can change it each time you switch your job. What more, you would come up on internet search engines more often. Easier way to virtual fame, too.

Now, if you aren’t comfortable with numerous others sharing your nomenclature, then you may zero it down to the unit of work in the organisation and vet it down further for more specific names. For instance, if a married woman employee of, say, AppleTech finds it too general, she can opt for Software Development wife and if she finds that widely used as well, then settle for Boss wife! Mr Stephan wife! Dr Shinde wife… or Ms Savitha wife, Ms Meera wife…

How ludicrous! Hello, I am married to Sachin and am Mr Stephan wife! Or Hello, I’m married to John and am Ms Rachael wife!” I'd love this one the best..."Hello, She is my wife and Mr D'Souza wife."

Ewww! Let me stop lest your imagination runs wild.

Least of all, revising a woman's title will certainly cause cultural shocks, as we are used to boys being called Master and when they grow up addressed as Mr, while a female starts off being a Miss then a Mrs followed by being a Ms.

If a man can be called Mr irrespective of his marital status, why should a woman be Mrs?

Now, think of this, a woman in a relationship with a married man is called his 'mistress', while that male will still be a Mr. The suggestion I got when I bounced the thought off was to call such men her 'mattress'.

Blame it on women for the addresses. Why feel insecure about your marital status after you've taken the plunge? If its age-related perks that you fear, sorry women folks, our hands and eyes do give us away, however, we wish to think otherwise. Botox and tucks and lifts cannot hold them in place for long. Give that money to charity and hold your self-esteem high instead.

May I suggest, in the best interest of all souls born females, that you be a Miss as long as you are a girl and revise that to Ms when you are sure you are grown up to be called a woman. So even if you feel 16 at 60, no worries, you are still a 'Miss' with a zzz. And those who do not know your marital status and age, would anyway address you Ms.

Now for those who love being Mrs, by all means call yourself thus. But don't be offended if your neighbourhood aunty asks, ' Where's your Misterrr'.

I mean no offence to any aunty. Oops! aunts. Who? Women, man!