What’s for lunch? I rubbed my hands and parked my large butt at the table with a wide grin.
My wife looked startled. Then her face changed—an odd mix of forgetfulness and guilt. She rushed to the kitchen and returned with a dish.
“Here,” she said, offering what she believed to be the dish of the century. “Enjoy.”
As I looked at it, her words sounded more like mockery. The dish stood for everything I hated—especially about my marriage. And her.
“A salad?” I scrunched my brows as hard as I could, hoping to crush the two things I hated most with them—the salad and my wife.
“A salad?” I repeated, helpless. “Again? Why can’t I have a burger?”
She chuckled. “Yeah, you wish. Salad is awesome. What’s wrong with it?”
I looked down at the bowl.
The pity potatoes were trying to gel with the talented tomatoes. The cocky cabbage was clearly trying to dominate the lame lettuce.
The whole thing was a group marriage session gone wrong.
What’s wrong with it? This silly salad represented my entire marriage.
“Why do we have to eat married vegetables?” I asked.
She raised a brow, picked up her bowl, and sat beside me.
“Because married people who eat married stuff stay married for eternity.”
I coughed. The cabbage got stuck in my throat—along with her twisted logic.
I got up, carrying the bowl like it was nuclear waste. My mother was standing by her favorite thing in the world: the refrigerator. Her second child—only colder, and harder to clean. She had overheard the conversation, as usual.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“I want to keep this salad bowl in the fridge,” I said and slipped past her. But the moment I opened it, a strange, sour smell smacked me.
“It’s smelly,” I said, pointing at some of the items she’d carefully arranged.
Mom picked them up and sniffed.
“It’s smelly, yes—but in a good way. I suggest you add something else to the word ‘smelly’,” she warned.
“Yeah, it’s smelly and disgusting.” I gagged. “Throw the old stuff out.”
My mom was offended. She thought I wanted to throw her out.
My wife looked pleased. She thought she could finally make new smelly stuff.
I pointed at the smelly cheese and the dried cabbage.
My mom looked even more offended.
I hadn’t noticed the dessert she’d lovingly made—buried behind the cabbage.
My wife looked even more pleased. She wouldn’t have to persuade my mom to throw out that dessert now.
I dropped my eyes and stumbled into my dad on the way out.
He was eating a burger.
“How on earth do you eat a burger every day? Doesn’t Mom stop you?”
He chuckled.
“You mean to ask if she doesn’t nag?”
I had to give it to the old man. He knew what was on my mind.
How on earth did he remind me of my wife every time he talked about his?
“You have not learnt an important lesson, son.” Father tapped my shoulder.
“When you want to eat a burger, you just eat one. Don’t ask your wife.”
He chuckled.
“But ensure you are hiding in the bushes while eating it. Also, wipe your mouth when you are done.”
Could you believe this guy?
All these years, he had not passed down this wisdom to me.
And my mom kept wondering if someone was having sex in the bushes every time there was some movement.
And I kept wondering how the couple could have sex and eat the burger simultaneously.
I had to correct it.
So I ran to my mother to inform her.
My father ran behind me.
“Mother, I think Father has betrayed you,” I said.
My father panted while shaking his head.
My wife stood up, looking excited.
My mother closed her mouth with her hands. “What did he do?”
“Father has been cheating on you. You wondered who was having sex in the bushes?”
I paused for effect.
“It was him.” I pointed at my father.
“What?”
“What?”
“What?”
My father’s heart popped in fear.
My mother’s eyes popped in shock.
My wife’s eyes popped in excitement.
“He is lying,” my father said, shaking his head continuously.
“Oh really?” I chuckled. “Why are your hands muddy? Why the leaves on your clothes?”
My father’s mouth fell open. He didn’t have an answer.
He couldn’t even tell the truth.
He closed his mouth immediately—to hide the chewed burger.
My mother treated my father that day.
With the stale food in the refrigerator and the stinky dessert she had made for me.
My lazy wife just ate the pity potatoes married to the talented tomatoes in a dish called salad—
the one I had kept in the refrigerator.
I? I went behind the bushes.
To eat the burger my father had hidden behind it.
But I had to give it to the old man. He was right.
“When you want to eat a burger, you just eat one. Don’t ask your wife, your mother, or your father. But eat behind the bushes and wipe your mouth after you are done.”
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