“Just charge my phone, please.” I say to no one in particular, and yet it means to everyone within earshot. No one stirs. As if.
“Hey, please just put my phone on the charger.” I indicate to my husband, breaking down the process, lest he think that charging wife’s phone is rocket-science.
“I don’t know which is your charger.”
“………” I say in my head. And don’t say a word.
I see him fumbling near the plug point, finally pulling on one cable. “This one?” He says holding up a white charger.
“That’s for the iPhone.” I sulk.
“Oh of course. You don’t have an iPhone.” He delivers this with a derision, reserved for wives of 20-years of marriage.
“I prefer substance over swag.” I can deliver derision too, honed over 20-years of marriage.
I am sure he says this in his head “……” and doesn’t say a word.
“My charger is black in colour.”
“To match the skin tone?”
“To match my sense of humour. Noir. And Wicked.” Score !
“Then that does match you.” Score to him!
“But not that one, that is of the old phone.”
“Then why have you still kept it?”
“Just like that. Why throw?”
“The pin matches?”
“No.”
“Then why have you still kept it?”
I ignore. Ignoring is another way of delivering derision. Score Again!
“Use thaaaat one. Yes.”
“Which is your phone?”
“You mean, where is my phone?”
“No. Which?”
“Huh?”
“I don’t know which is your phone.” says the man of the house. Say what! Score to him!
I get up. Take my phone and set it for charging.
I have believed that to understand the power dynamics in the family, just see who is tasked to charge the mother’s phone. The pecking order becomes evident.
Now, you know my husband is so not hen-pecked ; he doesn’t even know which is my phone. Forget charging it.
We are drawn at Love All.