37.2 – I am about to be a widow!

Women fake orgasms, men imitate death. Ladies do it out of pity, gentlemen because of love for themselves. Tickling in the throat, red nose, wet eyes – the world fades away, life is over. You want to jump into arms, act up and let others feel sorry for you.

The game is familiar, the rules are known: sit in a chair in clothes, let others undress you, wince swallowing pills. Stand a medical thermometer under an arm, get the remote control, a kiss on “hot forehead” and loyal promise: “I will cure you, my hero!”

The knight who exhausted a dragon, wastes away warming up writing an epitaph. The obituary is responsible to let others compose. The dearest cooks soup, makes cutlet and prepares salad. Her own 38.5 – not an excuse to lose heart.

The more suffering, the less conflicts: the spouse works off for 98% when the norm is 95. The planet does not know grief, the universe does not see losses: pretending is pointlessly pathetic. You need to deserve to be ill: the head on a place, hands are not ripped, legs are not shot off.

Why before the New Year Eve? “I could have done so much”, – the fallen one crushes. The spouse calls Olesya: “He is ill like last year… Buy a tree, decorate with lights, order gifts… Do you have a fever too? … What? … I have 38.5 and need so much to do”.

The Internet is full of searches: “mustard in socks”, “vodka and pepper”. Along the way she feeds children, cleans shoes, irons dress… tea with raspberries on a tray. Dear is tired, father is exhausted, children draw near-death pictures of dad.

The support of the family has fallen, sweaty forehead is shining, self-indulgence is relaxing: got a right without even half trying. The wife rushes as usually – there is one less on the way. Still there is a benefit – you surely know where the breadwinner is.

A tree is a family prototype: husband – a strong trunk, wife – pine needles, children – naughty lights, the youngest one – a star on the top. The support is sick in the bed, needles cringe, lights are tangled up, the star is on the side. No harmony or feng shui.

It is dark, faint-heartedly and sadly. Not a man, just a bully with: “If…” and “When…” Knives are not sharpened, the coat is old, have not been in theatres for years. Beer, chips, crackers. Stew, custard, sprat in tomato sauce. As usual, mediocre, routine. Like others have.

Men, come on? Squat, push up, pull up! Today once, tomorrow twice! Spend savings on jewelry, toys and flowers. Help the eldest with drawings, read a story for the youngest, take the wife to ballet. Old people say: “Do not spit in well – a promise delayed is justice deferred”.

It is easy to grant wishes, pleasant after corporate parties. Go skating with children, to opera with the loved one. Diverse places, change routes, confuse tracks. Make surprises recalling hunting instincts. Dare yourself, make friends jealous of you.

Choose books over papers, poems over jokes, get a notebook – write down victories. Open before sleep, write how a day was spent. If do not find reasons make a point: “The day was wasted, I am a lazy pig”. You will know the truth, but can hide it from others.

Work aiming at goals in advance: family members opened their mouths and you did it yesterday. Why? With a happy wife – a husband is welcomed, children are happy, it is cozy inside. A happy man is asked: “Why is your wife glowing”, – the answer: “Because I love her”.

To women – I wish healthy and strong men in the New Year.

To us – stop feeling sorry for ourselves,

Throw medical thermometers away

And remove the tree…

Before May comes.

Author: Oleg Braginsky

Translation: Marina Alexandrova

Source: New Retail