Married for 17 years… faithfully I hasten to add.
Well okay, I’ll confess to my mind wondering from time to time. My brain, it has sinned, oh how it has sinned, especially with the progress of technology and all that is free on the Internet, but you’ll probably know all about that.
Especially if you’re from the Middle East, apparently they’re the top consumers of website naughties. So even if it’s “Death to Amrikaaa!” in some parts, it’s only after a bit of self-love spurred on by googling for “Milf”.
But I digress.
And I’m getting ahead of myself.
What I want to highlight is communication, which I’m a little rusty at. My conversations with those of the fairer sex in the past decades have been solely related to the kids (at home) and work (in the office). I’ve had a few winks down the blouse when one of my female colleagues has reached over the table to grab the coffee (not intentionally, but purely out of masculine reflex), but that’s the extent of it all. Obviously, I need a primer—some coaching.
But I have marital responsibilities to attend to first.
“Are you not watching?” the wife asks.
“Yes, I am,” I say, while I scroll my phone. “Just looking for a podcast for bed.”
“If you’re not watching it, then there’s no point in us watching it.”
As if watching the TV is something that requires an enabler.
“Just give me a minute,” I say and continue to download any male dating podcast I can find.
I’ve now got 48 hours' worth of listening downloaded.We’re seated at opposite ends of the sofa. She turns around and places her feet on my lap and I have to move my arms up and out of the way to accommodate her tootsies.
“You could put that phone away and give me a foot rub,” she says.
“Just give me a minute,” I say again with my eyes still scanning the screen.
She wiggles her feet on my lap and after tapping “download” on one more podcast I put the phone away. I grab one of her feet, place my thumbs on the sole, and begin kneading.
Her eyes close and she smiles. I’m thinking about how I can download this Tinder thing I’ve heard about.
This is my daily routine. While I sit on the sofa with my mind elsewhere the kids are in their rooms. The son swearing up a storm playing Fortnite with his friends online. The daughter sending selfies to her friends. What is that kind of communication? She’ll walk from her room to the kitchen and snap a selfie in the process, that selfie then goes on to Whatsapp, Snapchat or whatever, and then her friends reply in the same way. A bizarre silent picture portrait form of communication. They must all be ninjas at reading people's emotions and moods just from face pics.
Eventually, the TV show ends. The detective with his personal demons catches the mass murderer after the murderer has toyed with him and brought forth all the detective’s insecurities.
Then the credits roll.
But Netflix is ready for this eventuality, recommending another series and then another and another ad infinitum. The TV holds within it a plethora of brooding and inner suffering for us to binge watch. But for tonight, we’re done.
I remain on the sofa as the wife goes to do her evening things. She’s adorned in the Western world’s burkha, a rumpled old nightshirt, which is just a giant t-shirt with “Only Good Vibes” written in cursive on it.
She exits the bathroom and walks through the living room and the dog gets up off his cushion and follows her into the bedroom. I remain on the sofa and switch on yesterday’s NFL game. I wait for the door to close, pick up my phone, go to Google Play and search “Tinder”. I consider downloading the app. My finger hovers. Instead, I close Google Play, go to Google search and type in “Hide an app on your phone”.
The New York Jets get a first down.
“Turn the volume down,” she says from the bedroom. I pick up the headphones, place them over my ears, switch them on, and sync them to the TV via Bluetooth.
This is my evening.
My evenings.
In the morning, it’s the school run, fifteen minutes; drive to the office, another 15 minutes. Emails. Meetings that could’ve been emails. Scrolling the internet. Checking emails. Getting coffee. Replying to an email. Looking at a PowerPoint sent to me by email that we’ll be discussing in a meeting that could’ve been an email.
Then home.
This has to change. I need this to change.