Minimum effort, Maximum punishment


They say those who can, do. Those can’t teach. And those that cannot write anything due to a nagging and bitching hangover, repost an old post they did a while back while guesting at MummyTime.

Read and learn, while I retire back to bed.

The Good Wife

I consider myself to be a good wife. However this status has been achieved from years of trial and error and surprisingly, I have not always been this way.

Over the course of our long long realtionship, I have done a few things in which I am not proud of, all in the name of payback. I do not condone domestic violence in any way, shape or form, so I have had to resort to mental espionage to carry out my psychological attacks on Mr Woog.

It bagan back in London, where we were regular tube users. Mr Woog would always fall into a deep deep sleep as soon as the tube pulled out. “Stand Clear Of the Closing Doors” was his version of a lullaby. More often than not, I had no reading materials, and since I have an aversion to sitting quietly in my own thoughts, I would begin to get super pissed at him for not using this travel time to discuss such matters as the state of the world and how we were going to get to Thailand on 20 quid.

There was one of two things that would occur. I would either wait until the tube pulled into our station, get off, wait till the doors almost closed and yell his name loudly. Sometimes he would make it, sometimes I would wave him goodbye. If I was really stroppy, I would just get off, say nothing and walk home via the pub. He would eventually turn up a few hours later.

As I matured, I found less dramatic ways to torture him. But one very dramatic fight ensued after a night out. We had been at a lovely party of the homosexual variety in Surrey Hills when I put my hand up to have a full drag-queen makeover and participate in an impromptue drag show. Mr Woog is quite conservative and expressed his dissaproval in the taxi on the way home some hours later. My head was bobbing about like a bladder on a stick and I am not quite sure what came over me when I reached out, grabbed his glasses and threw them into the neighbours backyard.

More subtle torture can be found doing the simplest of tactics.

Mr Woog likes to read. At any one time, he could have 4 books on the go. If a snippy fight occurs, I would get even by removing all of his book marks. This behaviour can escalate to letting down a tire of his bike, “forgetting” to get him a coffee and drinking the last glass of wine very quickly.

His Blackberry might go missing, or I would take a photo of my boob and set it as his screensaver, only to be discovered when he pulled his phone out onto the table at important client meetings.

If we were going through a rough patch, it would be quite common for me to not let him know that my entire family were coming over for dinner. I liked to schedule these on evenings that co-incided with a major rugby match.

Over the years, my need for such behaviour has decreased due to his tolerance level being higher and my expectations dipping. And now he is a good husband. Because he has a good wife.