Forget about being a kitchen and bedroom goddess

Women come across all sorts of advice regarding marriage, specifically about being a good wife. Often, I have found myself taking unsolicited counsel from all quarters.

Decades ago, a newly-wed cousin was advised not to run away in case her new husband beat her up. The woman saying this had two missing front teeth, thanks to an abusive husband.

Thankfully, today, marital violence is frowned on and the person giving such advice will be given a dressing down, even in the village.

A while back, I found myself researching on how to be a super wife, from the kitchen to the bedroom, how to look effortlessly alluring in both an apron and lingerie to ensure that I did not give him reason to look elsewhere. The tips sounded great — until I decided to put them into practice, that is.

Breakfast is a big deal in our house, but that morning, I transformed it into a huge affair.

Pancakes, sweet potato, toasted chicken sandwiches, nduma, sausages, fruit salad, fresh juice, hold on… I even managed to come up with something that resembled a samosa.

“We have guests this early?”

That is our daughter when she woke up.

“Something smells good, who’s coming to visit us?” That is her father.

“I decided to surprise you guys with a sumptuous breakfast.”

Instead of the tight hugs and endearing expressions, I expected, I got surprised looks as they dug in. I imagined this was working until later, when hubby followed me to the bedroom.

“Are you alright?” he asked. There was only concern, no husky voice, no glint in his eyes, no hint of anything exciting.

“Of course… did you like the breakfast? There’s more good stuff coming up…”

He looked at me cautiously.

“What’s up? Did I do something to piss you off?” he asked

“Why would you think that?” I replied

“Well, you are not a morning person. And you do housework when you are mad at me.”

Obviously, this breakfast thing was not working, so I decided to focus on the evening, determined to look as alluring as possible.

After dinner, I whip out lingerie, whose price tag would have bought a small piece of land in Isiolo. Earlier, I had taken a shower using some scented, exotic (read expensive) shower gels.

The light in the bedroom is dim and I have that old radio playing soft music. After 30 minutes of preparation, I step out of the bathroom, feeling a little silly because I have in mind to perform a languid dance for him. Only to find him sprawled on the bed, snoring, the radio switched off.

I stand there, wondering what part of the advice I missed, already freezing in my stringy underwear. My husband has this sacred connection with his sleep. Waking him up is as frustrating as trying to untangle chewing gum off a two-year-old’s hair. I therefore put on my warm, faithful sleeping T-shirt and toss the lingerie away.

There will be lots of housework to do the next day.

Karimi is a wife and mother who believes marriage is worth it. Email [email protected]