I didn’t get to feel anything about Nigeria’s independence. Today, however, I did make a startling discovery; my marriage is not what it seems to be.
They say you learn more about a person the more you’re married to them; but what about if the stuff you learn makes you question your decision to marry them in the first place?
I have just found out my husband likes Nigella Lawson.
No, I am not joking.
I mean, it’s my faulty really, I should have noticed. He talks about her from time to time while I grunt and try not to up-chuck whatever I might have ingested. I never paid attention and now I had to be subjected to an episode of her ‘I-know-Italy’ series, ‘Nigellissima’, while eating my salad. Look at all that butter! All that chocolate! All that pouting. All that hair tossing! Cleavage! Innuendo! Somebody shoot me.
I asked him – nicely – if he didn’t mind putting something else. But while my back was turned, he changed it again, like I wouldn’t recognise that syrupy panting after the time I mistakenly watched an episode, the one where she made Creme de Menthe chocolate cake/pie with a side of simpering. I admired said cake/pie – begrudgingly – because it looked delicious, but mostly because it looked the right consistency to throw right in her face; nice and gooey. Maximum damage cake/pie, in every way.
Two seconds after switching the second time, he said ”I see now why you think she’s annoying. It’s like she’s acting” (DUH!), but it was too late. The damage has been done and now I want a lawyer.
I reckon this is as irreconcilable as differences get.
I won’t talk about my admiration for her butter-eating, chocolate-laden proclivities. It’s how she gets you. Pretty soon that sentence becomes: I like
that Nigella eats butter.
Besides, I’ve got Lorraine Pascale for that now.