By Ratna Manucha
‘How am I looking?’ I looked up to see Boss Man peering short sightedly at himself in the mirror.
‘Funny’, I thought to myself. ‘Wasn’t this supposed to be my line? It’s another matter that I hadn’t used this line in a long time. In fact, a really lo-oo-o-ng time.
‘What was I supposed to comment on?’ I thought to myself as I tried my best to look interested. ‘You look fine’, I commented.
‘These trousers are fitting me after 10 years,’ he commented proudly. Look I’ve lost weight.’
There he goes again. Stealing my lines.
‘Is the shirt matching?’ he continued, oblivious to the fact that I was not really paying attention.
I felt like telling him that he wore the same two shirts each time he had to go out. So, nothing much had changed really. He pulls out the first shirt that is lying on the shelf and more often than not it is the same shirt that was worn the last time, because after washing and ironing it is but naturally placed on top of the pile and it is but natural Boss Man pulls it out. One would think he would sort out through the pile and decide which one to wear, (after all isn’t that what we women do?) But of course, that is too much of a bother. So, he does what he does best – he pulls out the first shirt that he sets his eyes on, while the others wait their turn patiently, which more often than not, never comes.
What is it with men and their inability to grasp what is going on in a woman’s mind? Granted, that men are from Mars and women are from Venus and all that jazz, but after staying together for so many decades, one would think that Boss Man would be able to figure out what’s going on inside my mind. But nope. Nada.
His expression is as blank as mine, so we look at each other blankly – twinning in our blank expressions.
By now I have switched off as I am wondering if I have shoes to match the clothes I have just worn.
‘How am I looking?’ I asked him, before he begins rambling again about how well his old trousers were fitting him.
He looked back at me flummoxed. ‘Why, what’s wrong with you?’
By now I was ready for battle. I knew I was putting my foot in my mouth, but I continued doggedly. ‘How is this dress looking?’
‘Haven’t I seen you in this before?’ he countered.
‘You tell me’, I shot back.
Obviously, he felt cornered, ‘cause he wasted no time in changing the topic.
‘I don’t like your hair’, he sounded almost petulant, like a child whose favourite toy had been snatched from him. ‘Why did you have to stop colouring it? What was the hurry?’
‘I’m owning it’, I replied, almost defiantly.
Obviously, he did not register ‘cause he looked at me absentmindedly (while still preening in front of the mirror – by the way, wasn’t that mirror meant to be for me? Yet, there I was, standing on the sidelines, waiting for Boss Man to vacate his position bang in front of it – smack in the middle).
‘Owning what?’
‘I’m owning my age. My hair. I’m embracing myself.’
‘Obviously you own your hair. I can’t think of anyone else who would want to own it’.
There we go again…So I did the next best thing. Steered him back to his favourite topic – himself!
‘What were you saying about your trousers?’ I asked.
His face brightened.
‘I was showing you how these trousers are fitting me after nearly 12 years. They’re brand new. I have hardly worn them. And if I suck in my breath just a teeny tiny bit, I can close the first button. Look!’ he ended almost triumphantly.
WHAAAAT?
He actually preserved his clothes all these years in the hope of losing all those extra inches around his midriff one day so he could fit back into his old clothes! Impressive.
I certainly harbour no illusions of losing the extra inches around my midriff, that seem to have a life of their own! Oh well, There’s more of me to love, I console myself as I collect my old clothes that no longer fit me and march them off to any store that gives me coupons with which I buy more clothes. What’s that you said about carbon footprint? Never heard of it.
Though if you ask me, I think between us two, we have really balanced it out…Boss Man saves his clothes, thus protecting the planet and I, on the other hand…
Back to the task at hand. That of telling Boss Man how good he is looking. Since when did he become so unsure of himself? I don’t recall him ever asking me how he was looking in his uniform…back in the good old days.
Isn’t it a given that women are always insecure about their looks whereas men on the other hand strut around like peacocks…what happened here?
I generally never ask how I am looking, ‘cause on the rare occasions that I do, I get an answer which actually does not pertain to the question.
‘So, how am I looking?’ Some people just never give up.
‘You dressed better when you were younger’. I could have bit my tongue.
‘What do you mean? These are the same clothes. You liked them before. Now what has happened? They’re finally fitting me’.
And just like that we were back to square one.
Meanwhile, dear reader, I’m off to re-arrange the shirts in Boss Man’s cupboard. I will just have to be discreet and place the one I want him to wear, strategically on top of the heap in his cupboard. The trousers though, are another story for another day!
Oh, you darling men from Mars, sometimes all you need is a little nudge from us women from Venus!
(Ratna Manucha, educator, author and columnist, lives, dreams and writes in Dehradun, her happy place).
