It’s a typical scene in a Malaysian home. The wife is in the kitchen, she’s been slamming things around since 7.30pm trying to come up with a decent meal for five. Her hair is sticking out in all the wrong places and she looks as if she’d liberally splattered on some cooking oil on her face for the perfect effect. The yellow-face-wife in the kitchen.
The eldest daughter is helping to set the table while the other younger two boys are horsing around in the living room, toppling over whatever they can topple…preferably something that their sister just corrected. The husband is sitting upstairs at his computer table PRESUMABLY WORKING. He’s actually checking out on the latest news occurring in the fiasco called Malaysian Politics. He’s highly amused by the latest antics.
The decent meal is complete an hour later and the family sits down together to eat….well, actually the kids and the husband sits down to have their meal while the wife continues toiling in the kitchen. This time…to clean up the whole mess. By the time she’s done with the clean-up, the kids and husband has finished eating. So, she takes the remaining food, takes it into the kitchen and grudgingly eats while cleaning up the dishes. She half-eats and half-cleans, even a five-year-old can tell that her blood is tipping the boiling point.
The kids are beginning to fight while the husband and eldest daughter is arguing over who gets to change the channel. The girl wants to watch her favorite singer’s concert while the husband wants to see the score to the latest soccer match.
The wife is fuming back there in the kitchen and starts slamming the dishes and cups around back there.
The husband, after winning the fight with his daughter, is thirsty. He walks into the kitchen, grabs a cup, pours water into it, drinks it up and then places the cup beside his wife for washing. He saunters back into the living room.
The wife is frozen mid-action….it’s just a cup, wash it. It’s just a cup, wash it, she thinks to herself. But there’s another voice in her head, why the heck should I?
OK, this is where the story stops and the Marsha commentary comes in. Yeah, why the eff should women do all the housework especially if the women are already working outside of the home?
Do you really want to know how tiring it is to work and ALSO cook and clean, coach and tutor, bath and iron all in one day? Why is it that in a typical Malaysian home, the men get to have more free time than the women?
And the ironic thing is this….naturally, when faced with such circumstances, the woman can’t be in a very good mood. And the man has the cheek to think to himself, I work myself half to death in the office and I come home to this sour face. Might as well find myself a nice young th’ng out there.
It’s really ironic because the woman is thinking, I work my arse off in the office, comes home to do my job as a wife and mother and all he does is sit outside with the remote control nestled somewhere between his crotch and his belly. And this bugger has the auda-effing-city to expect sex after this???
I was inspired by a real-life scene that I saw, kept mum about because we were guests. Guests are supposed to be mute (or act like it) under such strained circumstance.
I wanted to tell the wife to stop slamming things around in the kitchen and sing a song. I wanted to tell the husband to get off his stupid lazy marder-fardering ass and help the wife lah, at the fooking least.
Just vote to let me know if you fall into this category, ok? Don’t worry, it’s all sshhhh-sshhhhhh in here.
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