The Template Wife

One thing I promised myself that after getting married I would never NEVER succumb and become a ‘template wife’. To surrender my personality and give in to the description of a woman who cooks, cleans and sews. Period. Na-uh.

Okay, maybe post baby the coffee breaks with girlfriends might have to be cut short. To half hour screaming sessions after which my friends hurriedly scuttle away in shame, maybe.

A lot of Husband’s friends ended up marrying women like that. Template wives. Women with no interests or personalities of their own. Who live to serve their husbands and children food, knit, sew and clean.

Note, the following conversation between yours truly and such a wife.

Me : So, besides the kids, what do you do in your free time?     

Template Wife : The usual, cook, clean and mend.          

Me : (grimacing) Owh, that’s nice.

True, these women are prim and proper. True, makeup is always present on their faces, never unsheathed by oily skin, and there’s never a hair out of place. True, these are the women that men WANT to bring home to their mothers, who in turn will be good mothers to their own children, and are content to allow their husbands to provide for them as God intended.

When Husband brought me home to meet his mother he was pissing his pants. Probably had something to do with the fact that I can't cook to save my life and I hate kids.

Back to the template wives. This is why I hate going out with Husband’s friends if their wives are around. A round of the drinks with the boys at the pub is fine, but a proper dinner usually means womenfolk will be present.

They don’t add to the conversation. Or if they do, it’s never interesting or brings anything to the table. They just stand there in their makeup and heels looking pretty. The only positive thing that comes to mind when you hang out with people like these is, at least they’re good to look at, and that it caused their husbands to forget all other aspects important to a relationship. Like a personality, maybe?

One such wife who was also pregnant and me were talking about our medical checkups, comparing notes. When I asked if they had checked her gums yet, she giggled and said, yes, it’s important that pregnant moms have strong teeth for all the yelling they’re going to do during labor. (They check your gums for gum disease, you idiot).

I’m tempted to wait a decade or two down the line and see what happens when these men realize they’re married to unattractive old crones with nothing interesting to say. Or maybe they’ll still look good. At least that’s one good thing.