The wife material is so popular, I had to get one for myself.
Everybody said I needed it. That for you to even look at me, scrutinize me and align your oh-so-precious tick to the small box preceding my name, I had to get this material. I got the fabric. I tailored it to my physique.
You should have seen the first time I tried it on. Hideous does not even begin to describe it. I looked like a clown, to be honest with you. I almost gave it up.
But then I listened in on some valuable lessons you and the boys were dishing out, and I was dumbstruck. You were talking about how you like your wife materials. Just what I needed to hear.
For this material to be considered perfectly wifely, I learned, I would have to pretend that you are the only man who lives and that every other man is dead. Or walking dead. Their state of death therefore makes them unable to stir any feelings of lust in me. They do not exist, they never existed and they would never exist for as long as you exist. My one and only beloved!
For this material to fit perfectly, I had to know how to strike the balance between being a know-it-all and a dunderhead. I had to be just the right amount of ignorant so that compared to me, you would not look foolish. Anybody else was allowed to make you look foolish, but not me. Not if this material was to fit well. I really had no idea. I have to admit great lesson learned, boo!
I heard you mention a side chick. I heard you confirm that she was indeed part of us now – the most natural thing for you, you said. I heard you state categorically that she was here to stay. And for the wife material to fit me properly, I had to embrace her and allow her to stick around. Any drama that I would cause would be considered unwifely, and you know what that would mean? It would mean that the wife material would not quite fit. God forbid bae. God forbid!
I was taking notes as you discussed your preferences. That for that perfect fit, my legs would always have to stay closed. That I should only open them for you my honeybun. That any desire I felt deep within that region beyond my thighs would be quenched only by you, and if you were busy quenching your side dishes’ desires, I would just have to keep my legs tightly closed and wait for the urge to pass, or wait for you to quench it at your convenience – whichever comes first (forgive the pun sweetie) like a good girl. Oh, and I would not talk about it either. Wife materials would never fit women who spoke about their desires. They just wouldn’t fit.
I desperately wanted that material to fit. So I did all the above. Predictably, I got that box against my name checked. Yay! They said umeniingiza box. Double yaaay! Baibe!
You say that my body is a smasher. I don’t know what that means, but I think you mean that the material fits me well, no? That you like what you see? Should I turn around sweetie? Give you a better look?
I also know how to cook. I do it so well, you won’t believe it. and I have learned to shut my smart mouth. You get to speak all you want love.
I say yes. I don’t ask stupid questions. They call stupidity ‘umama’ because women are the carriers of stupidity. That is why you and the boys tell each other to ‘Wacha umama’ isn’t it? I will stop it too.
This wife material has done so much for us, and for our marriage, don’t you agree? I hope it never wears and tears though. I hear there are some materials that wear off unexpectedly, while some begin to stink. God forbid that mine should do the same.
God forbid that when it wears off you will see that I love and enjoy being touched. That I long to feel like a woman, that I want to enjoy sex unashamedly. That sometimes I fantasize about not being pounded on but being made love to sweetly instead. That I would even show you where to touch me if you bothered. Dearest.
God forbid that I am finally unable to fight the urge to ask whether you ever stepped into a classroom. And when you say yes, to not ask how you got the heart to waste your father’s hard-earned cash in school fees. I hope I can stop myself from asking if a human being can really be that myopic. My sugar.
Should that wife material be destroyed, God knows I might be tempted to confess to you that I know that you are sleeping with Sarah. Your secretary.
When the confessions start rolling, you never know what will stumble out of my mouth next. I might ramble on about Jack. Jack who likes it when I am not wearing that wife material. Or anything for that matter.
He says that I am an animal without that hideous material. He says that he loves every curve, every inch of my body, mind and soul – have you ever had someone love your soul darling? He loves my mind too. That mind that threatens you so much. He loves it. He doesn’t give a rat’s ass about wife materials – his words not mine.
God forbid that you find out that I wear nothing for Jack, yet I give him everything. God forbid that you finally realize that for you my love, I give nothing. Not to worry though; I will always wear this wife material for you. Always.
Because this wife material will draw that smile back on my lips, just how you like it. It will push my tears to the backburner, just where you demand they stay. It will swallow these truths and hide them, just how you need them to be.
With this wife material, my submission to you is worn like a corsage, for everyone to see and for you to caress with pride.
I wore this wife material just for you honey.
You love it, don’t you?