The first time I met my wife, her head was in the clouds.
She was living in a fairy tale world where the big bad wolf did not exist and everybody lived happily ever after.
It was not really her fault. She reads too many romance books where the men say all the right thing, do the right things and can even read the minds of women.
She had these expectations from me, always expected me to be perfect, to know what she wants, to know the right thing to do at every single time.
It was a struggle. I didn't know how to handle it but one thing I knew for sure was that she was perfect for me and I did not want to lose her.
Then began my foray into the world of books.
I have never, ever, in my entire life, voluntarily read anything that was not purely for academic purpose. Worst of all, reading fiction, romance fiction.
Its the drivel that girls read to deceive themselves, to make themselves feel better.
But there I was in my room, holding a pink book with a flower on the cover.
All I could think about was what my friends would say if they saw me reading such.
I shut my door, lay on my bed and then proceeded the longest six hours of my life.
It was not great for me. The heroine was just a woman who could not make up her mind, and the female author made men out to be this sensitive, all knowing, perfect creature.
Some of the shit the man said in the book raised the hairs on my arms.
Do women really want men to become like that?
It was scary and when I was done, I wondered if this was what my wife really expected of me.
Of course, at the time, I did not know she would be my wife.
I tried, I honestly tried to be like the male character in her book but I kept messing things up.
When I thought I was taking charge, she accused me of being authoritarian.
When I thought I was reading her mind and doing exactly as she wanted, she accused me of being selfish.
When I jokingly asked her opinion on grand public romantic gesture, she said bluntly that it is not for her, she would not enjoy it.
In the end, I threw my hands up and told her I was done. I was done trying to be a fairy tale man, trying to live up to her expectations.
She looked at me calmly and asked me, "What expectations?"
I was stumped.
"What fairy tale? Ebuka, when did I ever tell you i wanted you to be perfect, or to read my mind or say all the right things?"
I began to stammer. 'But, the books you read na, and sometimes the way you talk and..."
She laughed and laughed so hard I began to feel like a small boy.
"Biko Ebuka, I don't expect you to be perfect, to say all the right things or to read my mind. I can't even do those things. I expect you to be you just as I will keep being me. Books are books, let them remain books."
That was the first time I took a deep relaxing breath.
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