I don't like to talk much about my first marriage or the extreme a-hole that I chose to be my husband. I am just thankful that our relationship ended and I went on to have the family that I have today. But I have no problem sharing amusing marital stories. So here goes.
Shortly after our wedding, my mother-in-law called from England and told my husband that we needed to buy doves and keep them in our apartment. Doves are good luck in Pakistan, apparently. I thought this was a nice idea and we set off to purchase three white birdies.
What the chap didn't tell me was that the doves should not be kept in a cage, according to this bizarre tradition, but allowed to fly free.
"Free?" I exclaimed. "They're going to shit everywhere!"
He insisted that if we lock them up in a cage it would be "bad." He never specified what bad meant. Fearing that if we caged the doves we'd unleash some sinister Pakistani curse, I agreed to let them fly around our house, unrestricted.
The first day, I came home from work and nothing seemed amiss. I climbed the stairs to the second floor and everything was in order. I breathed a sigh of relief and headed to the bedroom. I opened the door and almost died on the spot.
Two birds were flapping into each other, their feathers flying in the air. My desk was speckled with dozens of bird turds. The books in my bookcase were dripping in bird feces. The third bird was perched in a corner. I peered over him and he stepped to the side, revealing a fresh mound of shit.
"You see?" I yelled at the husband, who was working on the computer. "There's shit everywhere! I told you! What kind of tribal ritual is this?! Oh my GOD!"
"Hey, I'll clean it up," he assured me in his clipped British accent. "It's so nice that they can just fly and not be held prisoner."
"We're going to spend every waking hour cleaning this up!" I wailed, running to the kitchen to retrieve a towel and some 409.
He told me not to worry and went over to stick one of the doves on his finger. It released a turd into his open palm. He just smiled. Why this wasn't my first clue that there was something wrong with him is beyond me.
We argued for several days over the uncaged birds and spent nights wiping down the furniture and laying newspaper on the floor. I wish I had more muscle, but part of me felt bad that he'd left his whole family in the UK and didn't know anyone here. I wanted to please him and make him feel like I understood his culture. "A" for effort.
After a week of incessant scrubbing and vacuuming, he finally agreed to buy a cage for the birds. But something happened in that transaction. He no longer took an interest in them. He forgot to feed them and stopped speaking to them. Eventually he left the front door open and two flew out while I was cleaning the cage. Did he do it on purpose? I was never sure. About a week later, concerned that the lone bird would miss its mates, he walked with it outside and gently released it into the air.
And thus went our fist experience with owning pets. Lots of shit and eventually abandonment.
Just like our marriage.
Shortly after our wedding, my mother-in-law called from England and told my husband that we needed to buy doves and keep them in our apartment. Doves are good luck in Pakistan, apparently. I thought this was a nice idea and we set off to purchase three white birdies.
What the chap didn't tell me was that the doves should not be kept in a cage, according to this bizarre tradition, but allowed to fly free.
"Free?" I exclaimed. "They're going to shit everywhere!"
He insisted that if we lock them up in a cage it would be "bad." He never specified what bad meant. Fearing that if we caged the doves we'd unleash some sinister Pakistani curse, I agreed to let them fly around our house, unrestricted.
The first day, I came home from work and nothing seemed amiss. I climbed the stairs to the second floor and everything was in order. I breathed a sigh of relief and headed to the bedroom. I opened the door and almost died on the spot.
Two birds were flapping into each other, their feathers flying in the air. My desk was speckled with dozens of bird turds. The books in my bookcase were dripping in bird feces. The third bird was perched in a corner. I peered over him and he stepped to the side, revealing a fresh mound of shit.
"You see?" I yelled at the husband, who was working on the computer. "There's shit everywhere! I told you! What kind of tribal ritual is this?! Oh my GOD!"
"Hey, I'll clean it up," he assured me in his clipped British accent. "It's so nice that they can just fly and not be held prisoner."
"We're going to spend every waking hour cleaning this up!" I wailed, running to the kitchen to retrieve a towel and some 409.
He told me not to worry and went over to stick one of the doves on his finger. It released a turd into his open palm. He just smiled. Why this wasn't my first clue that there was something wrong with him is beyond me.
We argued for several days over the uncaged birds and spent nights wiping down the furniture and laying newspaper on the floor. I wish I had more muscle, but part of me felt bad that he'd left his whole family in the UK and didn't know anyone here. I wanted to please him and make him feel like I understood his culture. "A" for effort.
After a week of incessant scrubbing and vacuuming, he finally agreed to buy a cage for the birds. But something happened in that transaction. He no longer took an interest in them. He forgot to feed them and stopped speaking to them. Eventually he left the front door open and two flew out while I was cleaning the cage. Did he do it on purpose? I was never sure. About a week later, concerned that the lone bird would miss its mates, he walked with it outside and gently released it into the air.
And thus went our fist experience with owning pets. Lots of shit and eventually abandonment.
Just like our marriage.
Damn Girl - you checked logic at the door for that one. Good thing it didn't take long after that for you to realize that your ex-husband was a dumbass. Good thing you didn't breed with him.
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