During a wedding, the daughter is always given away under the guidance of the father to the husband. The dignified duty of the father, shown in the care he has for his daughter, is supposed to be transferred on to the husband — but this is a falsehood that completely blinds our eyes to the horrible reality. I've always thought that this should be changed around. To the sound of church bells, the mother should drag her son down the aisle and then toss him to the bride, signifying that from now on his new wife must be responsible for feeding, clothing, and looking after the brat. There is no return policy.
The reality makes me infuriated.
There was someone who once wrote an essay that attempted to answer the question, "When do men finally grow up?"
Clearly this person has no idea what they are talking about. They have definitely never been married. That's for sure. Someone with no experience like this would never know that men never grow up. They just get fatter.
When my friend May moved into a new house, we all rushed over to her house en masse to eat hairy crabs (and express our congratulations). On the second day, May said that her husband was caught off guard at midnight, when he discovered a massive spider in the corner of his bedroom. He cried out loud and scurried towards the edge of his bed where he shrunk up into a tight ball of fear. When May crept ahead to investigate, she found that it was just a crab who had leapt from the stove top in the kitchen, journeyed through the living room, the hallway, and the study, fleeing from the boiling water to hide in the bedroom until it died. With the truth uncovered, May commanded her husband to dispose of the thing, but he firmly refused. His reason? "I'm scared!" May lowered her head and gave out a long, reluctant sigh. When she found her "man," she thought she had found a shelter under which she could always hide from the wind and rain. How could it be that this "shelter" was more feeble and helpless than her?
On the contrary, if this man was not married, he would quickly put aside his fear and try his uttermost to express his extraordinary manly courage. However, when married, his true colors are revealed: his wife has become a weather-proof shelter in which he can hide. A second mother.
Later on, on some other day, May asked me, "Does your Pig cry?" to which I sadly affirmed, "Yes. He cries."
"Does he sob silently, or does he wail?" she asked.
"He twists his mouth up and makes a thunderstorm sound but doesn't really cry much," I replied.
"My man always cries. Most of the time, I first try to get his attention and comfort with tears. But he'll throw a tantrum like a big baby, with tears and mucus flowing everywhere. In the end, I have to go comfort him. If I don't it will never end."
"Another spoiled little prince," I laughed.
I knew another super successful career woman. She was really petite and graceful, but was a little too frank, especially about her family. She claimed to have two sons: one was eight months old, the other was thirty-seven. Both were spoiled, she'd say, both needed her attention and care. The single difference was that only one drank her breast milk.
When you first find your man, you think that you have found your rock. Much to your dismay, you must arouse the inner mother inside of you, as you have actually taken up the job of raising a child before ever giving birth. If there is a god, he is cruel.
One of my familiar friends once told me in private, "Why is your husband such a bother? It's like you are his second mother."
My answer: All men are pretty much the same. Your husband hasn't regarded you as his mother because you haven't given him the chance.
The most useful thing about marriage is that it finally destroyed the notion of "superman" inside my heart. No matter how much a man might appear to be all-powerful in public, once he returns home he becomes a mere, mortal child. If he still pretends to be omnipotent at home, it signifies that your marriage is a failure. His life is exhausting.
There were many single girls (who don't understand the reality of marriage) that have drooled upon encountering my Pig. "How amazing he is," they exclaimed with their chins covered in slobber.
I then proceeded to enumerate upon Pig's childish repertoire. I'm quite good at it by now.
A look of disdain immediately washed over their faces as I listed his immature antics. They also stood further and further away from me as I went on from detail to detail, fearing that I may contaminate them with the perverseness of my household.
In fact, more than once I advised a group of seemingly holier-than-thou girls, "No matter when you start looking for a husband, regardless of his quality, in the end you will realize that you have found a very large son."
They turned up their noses in response, "Why should I take care of him? Of course I'll find one that will look after me," they all said.
I shrugged. "There are three roads in front of you. One: if you yield to reality, you will spare no effort in taking care of your son and husband. Two: if you emerge from the mud of marriage without a trace of dust on you, you will grow old alone. Three: if you cling to the big ice cube that is your fantasy of marriage, your delusions will melt into your reality."
