A dozen pack of You-Knows
Posted By: sashayingpepper
Marriage is an eight-letter word. And also the wardrobe of all topics concerning about my relationship with Schroo. Naturally, it would cloak my cheeks in bright red and shod my being into shyness, making me protest with the lines, “My father thinks 24 is still an infant.” And I agree with him.
Although 24 years of age is a decent enough number to get married and raise a family, I, on the otherhand, wouldn’t mind waiting for a few more years. After all, my capricious spleen has been halted to indulge in any devilment of sorts until I finish my Interior Design course. After that, I will break free and fly away from all the cares that tie down a kite that wants to get lost . However, I won’t be long dallying with the winds, you know. Because I know that a patient pair of arms will be waiting to catch me when I get tired of the world.
And never will I stray after all that.
“Ninang,” Aj, my four-year-old nephew, called out as he points to Schroo’s picture on my bureau,” Is that your husband?”
I smiled, “Nope, that’s my boyfriend. I’m not married yet.”
“Well, you should because you’re old. Only old people have wives and husbands. Boyfriends and girlfriends are only for kids, you know,” lectured the little brat. Then he moved a little closer to me, and with all seriousness possible for a guy still enamored with jellyace and dreams of being a Zaido, he said gravely, ” I’m going to get married, Ninang.”
Gee. Now here’s a guy that wouldn’t think 24 is infant. In fact, in his eyes, it’s ancient. So, with equal gravity, I asked, “To whom?”
“To Angela,” he said.
“When?”
“In December,” answered he, still with enough solemnity to make anyone avoiding an early marriage turn purple from holding the hysterical laughter bubbling up in explosion.
“Well,” I started after a success of quelling my amusement, “I’m not saying you can’t marry Angela, but I know you’re still in preschool and haven’t any job. What are you going to feed your future wife then?”
“Why, chocolates!” he exclaimed in surprise as if that’s the only thing one should feed a wife.
“And what are you going to buy chocolates for when you don’t have money to buy them?” I demanded.
The little guy sighed like a wearied professor before an audience who just don’t get it. ”Ninang,” he explained slowly, “people always give me lots of chocolates during December, you know.”
Touche’.
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