My wife has left me. After five years together including two years of marriage, during which time we have rarely been apart; I now sit alone in my condo with two cats.
For the past three years she has been pursuing an MBA. Although the course was conducted in Thai, many of the course books were in English and I was dragged in as assistant translator at times. I can confirm that books on marketing management are, on the whole, badly written and extensively padded with buzzwords, buzzphrases and buzzpages with the intention of decreasing readability and increasing page count. When it came to the accounting section I was expected to help, the result of a mistaken impression that just because my last job title had included the words “Finance Director”, I was an expert on the black art of keeping the books. Not true of course, but we she did get an ‘A’ for the subject so I was spared a beating.
Course complete, it was time to look for a job. Plenty of opportunities in, and offers from, Bangkok; but her mother told her she had to work closer to home “otherwise Spike will spend all his time playing computer games, drinking beer, and will not go to bed till 0300, not good for his health.” I have no idea how her mother knows me so well, but she is right on the mark. And she who must be obeyed stressed that she wanted to come home to me and the cats at night; although given that she was stroking a cat at the time, I know who she would miss the most if she was stuck in Bangkok.
Eventually she settled for a property company and is now employing the fiendish marketing tricks she learned on her course to sell condos that will never be completed to gullible foreigners for a fat commission.
When she first embarked on the MBA there was a stated noble purpose that she wanted to get a good job so that she could save her salary and build a new house for her parents. Now that real money is in prospect, the focus on expenditure seems to have switched to designer handbags and shoes. Whatever makes her happy; and anyway, her parents have a perfectly adequate house, apart from the roof and some of the walls.
As for me, the days now stretch ahead with no requirements to take her for coffee, hang around while she browses the shops, or get chucked off the Xbox because she wants to watch TV. Should be bliss, and it would be if I wasn’t missing having her around. Bloody women, can’t live with them, can’t live without them.
Comments 🔗
2008-07-03| Billy saysMy dear mate “Razor” Blaydes put it rather more rudely, “Women, you can’t live with them and you can’t have heterosexual sex without them” … probably means more to the sub 50s
2008-07-04| Spike saysIt certainly does.