I Am the Husband of a Superior Woman

In big business, in society, and in the kitchen

If I ever wrote a book, I would give it the title “How to Be a Model Husband,” and in it I would explain how a man must master himself and not be wounded by the least thing; how he should occupy himself repeating his friends' telephone numbers — in his heart — when his wife comes back from a business trip and starts telling him about the pleasures she enjoyed; and how to act thus-and-so in such-and-such cases.

I would speak, for instance, of my hour for going to bed; for the matter does not end with my putting on pajamas and slipping under the sheets. It very often happens that at the very minute when I lean back on my pillows, a delightful book in my hand, my wife beside me reading a fashion magazine, a telegram sent by telephone rings through. And the telegram — in her name, of course — says:

“Shipping tomorrow nine dozen bengaline dresses.”

Dibuth

And so the magic of the atmosphere is broken... But my wife, who is a wife of complete femininity, gently humors my pride and says:

- An unimportant matter, this story of the nine dozen bengaline!!! Nothing in the world matters to me but you.... And as a matter of fact — did the telephone say how the goods are to be shipped?

As for being introduced to my wife's friends — that is quite an affair...

An ordinary wife says to people simply, “May I present my husband.” But in my case the mention of my name calls for several explanations... It happened last week that I came upon my wife in a restaurant, lunching with some friends, and I began asking myself whether it was better to go up to her and appear in the guise of a husband of the old style, or to hide behind a newspaper at a distant table. I chose the first course, and my wife introduced me by my name, and a moment later she cried:

- You're not cross with me, darling? I charged you this morning with taking delivery of the wine! When I went out you were asleep, so I figured you would be at home when they came to deliver it.

And I felt that the two guests had not understood who I was.
So she added:

- He's my husband — didn't you understand? He works in... such-and-such a line of business...

And she began explaining my hobby of photography, and how my pictures deserved to be exhibited...

But all these are small matters that ought not to be minded; the heart of the question is not easily understood...

The heart of the question is that I would have liked, when I arrived home in the evening, to find a wife who shows me the iron's broken cord for me to mend for her; or who sighs because I have stayed away too long, so that I appease her and draw from my pocket two tickets to a play, or a receipt for an installment from the fur shop on a fur she loves.

When I come back from my work, my wife is still at her office. If the iron's cord breaks, she mends it, or pays someone to mend it. And what could I possibly offer her? She has bought a fur of beautiful astrakhan, and a wristwatch, and paid the price herself.

We had decided, at the start of our married life, to divide the expenses thus: I pay for what the house cannot do without, and she pays the expenses of the luxuries. At first the arrangement seemed reasonable to me — but, oh my God! A husband must be able to feel pleased with himself and offer his little wife some of the fripperies she loves! I understood quickly that I would never give her anything, because she buys everything — and nothing would be left for me but to insure my life and present her with the receipt, signed by one of the insurance companies...

And there is one kind of pleasure forbidden to the husbands of women who are superior in business.

It is complaining to their wives in hours of hardship. It has occurred to me many times, over lunch, to recount my difficulties to her; and I would wait for a cry of sympathy from her, or a few sweet, soothing words. But that lies outside the range of her nature! “I have been through a thousand and one problems and overcome them, by applying invincible principles!”

And ah, if it were granted me to marry a second time, I would marry a woman who is good at nothing but making chocolate cakes.

But — a thousand sighs! Even in that case she would triumph. I forgot to say that this woman who is superior in business, and who is my wife, is at the same time a cook of the first order, counted among the wearers of the blue ribbon.

Salma Sayegh
From the French selections