My Better Half

That night, after the usual opera with my better half, I challenged my wife that I was superior to her. I thought we were about to start a War on gender inequality and male chauvinism. But much to my surprise nothing of that sort happened. Unaffected, calm and quiet as she always has been ever since I first met her, she said a mere ‘Ok’ in her easy tone and gave me one of her divine smiles. But Not this time! I had to be tougher and not just melt away with the smiles she gave me.

?Ok darling, I give you a chance. Let’s make a deal. You step into my shoes and cook a hearty meal for a day. This can prove your superiority!? Confidence oozed out of her words. But then I wasn’t going to accept defeat so easily either. The least doubt my cooking skills! ‘If she wants to test me, sure she can. I’ll prove myself’, my male ego echoed.

Without delay, I accepted the challenge. As per the terms and conditions, I was supposed to cook everything that she cooks for us. Breakfast, then look after our little Jay’s lunch-box, everything. ?That’s so easy,? I snorted. I knew that I’d almost won the race and I started my already half successful mission the very next day.

The next morning, when I was peacefully snoring on my bed, the alarm went off suddenly at 5 and I woke up with a jerk. 

?Jay, why the hell are you ringing your toy fire brigade at 5 in the morning?? I growled.

?Well, it’s not Jay, honey? it’s the alarm. Your D-day has dawned! Time to get up,? I heard my angel’s voice. Cursing, I got out of bed. The alarm had broken my world of sweet dreams. Lazily I entered the kitchen. Today, the kitchen for me was something different, my workplace. Just like the efficient chefs on the cookery shows I’d watched, I began to prepare breakfast.

?Now they’ll see how good the food tastes when the man of the family engages himself in this!? I said rolling the sleeves of my t-shirt. ?Just wait and watch, Mrs. Alvares! You’ll forget the best restaurant in town.?

But then as I proceeded with the work, I realized that my mission was getting tougher and tougher. ?It’s my first time, probably that’s why,? I tried to convince myself. But convinced or not convinced, this was getting harder and harder. No, I didn’t want a Mission: Impossible over here, even though I resemble my wife’s favorite film actor somewhat! The milk…. It conveniently spilled and in no time the whole stove was covered with smelly hot awful liquid. No matter how much I tried to clean it, the stove still looked greasy and sticky.

Then I began to cook a French omelet. But in vain the onions made me cry like the tragic hero of an art film and the eggs. If I wasn’t the Manager of a reputed company, I would have managed to secure the position of senior clown in the town’s most hilarious circus. I continued my juggling feat helplessly and managed to break all the eggs one after the other. The next thing that went wrong was the juice. In the past six years, for the first time, something went wrong with the juicer and it exploded, the pulp covering me entirely. I stood looking like a defeated soldier. And my spirits had dampened too. What a perfect way to start a day! Even though it wasn’t a Monday, it was surely the whackiest day of my life. I blamed it on my destiny.

After the longest but the hardest hour of my life, I managed to lay the table with some extra hot milk, some sausages and some quite good-looking (but certainly not appetizing) juice and some shelly omelet to complete the breakfast.

My heart started fluttering as I saw my sleepy-eyed angel and my super Jay nuzzling her as they entered the kitchen. ?So Mr. Alvares, I think you managed to do quite a good job. Although I can say first times aren’t always easy.?

My wife was unscrupulously teasing me as she elegantly seated herself in her chair while Jay banged his dishes with his  spoons. I looked like a crestfallen poor little dog as I hung my head and served them the breakfast I had made.

My son has a good appetite like me and he usually finish off everything put on his plates. But today, one small bite, one small morsel and this young superboy spat out the yucky meal. I took a bite and I couldn’t stand it too. I went straight to the bathroom.

I pondered upon this Superiority, to put in this piece as i always noticed women and men claimed their superiority on articles and comments on this website. Certainly in the family man and woman in marriage are the BETTER half of each other. I wouldn’t claim to be superior ever again i thought myself, atleast not in Kitchen!

As I returned to my battlefield, I noticed that my wife had put the dishes away and was smiling cutely at me. I was so touched by her gesture that I nestled in her arms like a lost child. I said, ?Sorry dear, I give up. I can’t manage this kitchen!?

?Well, I know that very well and that’s why I suggest you go and get some sleep while I clear this mess and get you all a good heavy breakfast.?

?Salutes to her,? I muttered as I went. I manage the most difficult job out there in my cozy, sophisticated office, but in the kitchen, she’s my boss, for although we both work, she cooks….And I make a mess!


Author: Jason Alvares- Canada