I have this close friend named Mu Xia who is rather smart, both mentally and emotionally, whose business is rather successful, and whose personality is rather charming. But when around her husband, she's like a girl for hire. Her husband always gets hungry in the middle of the night and then he will act out, saying "Let's go eat KFC! You can lose weight tomorrow!" Her husband is also fond of drinking, which means he's fond of getting drunk. After getting drunk, he goes out and acts like a spoiled fool. She comes along when beckoned, roaring through the night with him. Her husband also loves to talk, and his topics are always a bunch of bullcrap. No matter what he talks about, Mu Xia will always smile and nod. She always gives completeness to any gaps that may arise.
A non-genetic mother-son relationship like this between man and wife does not take respect into account. It's all about instinct.
On the contrary, I rather like the naughty child nature that permeates men to the bone. Moreover, I've always thought that this allows men to be more successful than women. Women look after the men, and men are free to play.
Exploring is play, painting is play, singing is play, shooting movies is play, earning money is play. Play is much more exciting than work, more pure. It makes it easier to escape from the world you live in. Of course, mahjong, smoking, and women aside, all of the things a man does are identical with that of a bad boy.
For this reason, I've shielded my Pig just as I would shield my son. Though he may not become a master of the games he plays in this life, he has been kept happy. That's OK with me.
The fact that Pig has acted like a wicked little boy in every conceivable way in front of me only proved that he can trust and have confidence in me. This, however, did not prove that our marriage was rock solid.
It is said that an already married man sticks to his mistress like glue. His mistress will hunt down the man's wife with murderous intent, demanding that she gives up her husband, to which the wife will simply laugh. "I'm not only his wife," she will say, "I'm also his mother. How could he leave me? Little girl, you're too young. You know nothing."
Although the words of the wife often are true, I still feel a bit apprehensive about this situation. If there comes a day when I have to deal with such a scenario, what would I do? Suddenly I think that I understand how mothers feel about their daughters-in-law, women who come to steal away their reliant little boys.
The crucial thing is that mothers must reign supreme over all other women. They are irreplaceable. Wives, on the other hand, are like the winners of a beauty pageant. Any woman of the appropriate age can participate and struggle for the crown. It's a devastating and tragic affair. However, the victor of this battle is not one who can be the best mother, but one who can be the best mother and lover, with an identity like a perfectly homogenous mixture of milk and water. A woman who can seamlessly pull this off is adorned with a crown of fragrant flowers.
A man's ultimate fantasy for a woman is one that can be not only both mother and lover, but also a laborer. Three persons in one body. He believes her place is at home, in the kitchen and in the bedroom. Men are often rather greedy like this. They are not often clear-headed. We should learn to forgive them.
When trying to earn the attention of a teacher in class, I would always bend my knees and stand half way up whenever I raised my hand. That way, it would be higher than everyone else's. I'd fight to be chosen to answer. I discovered that after getting married, this trick was still useful. I had to make use of every second and every inch to search for the chance to be taken care of and be spoiled, trying to keep rights and duties in equilibrium.
I stubbornly refused to learn how to drive because I loved the way that Pig turned the wheel when steering. It was like watching clouds drift by on a river of silk. I never want to miss an opportunity like this that makes me feel so enjoyable.
I, with the look of a scoundrel on my face, made him carry me on his back up the stairs, because I loved the feeling of bullying him.
If I never allowed myself little warm-hearted gimmicks like these I wouldn't be a woman anymore.
Don't blame me for not going in depth on the vile manners of women. They are common conventions, already known by all, and are nowhere near as interesting as meditating upon the nasty nature of men.
I've discovered that it doesn't matter what kind of woman you chat with, nor does it matter how far the conversation drifts, you will always land upon an airstrip with four big words written across it: HUSBAND AND WIFE RELATIONS. I've heard the same story over and over for ten years, and you can't but admire women for being the masters of conversation that they are. To them, life as man and wife is like an ancient song they sing. They are like the thousand readers who all live the life of Hamlet.
For example, when I went to Sri Lanka on a business trip once riding on a never-ending mountain road, a group of women in the car excitedly discussed marriage and men for a time that rivaled the length of the road itself.
At the climax of their discussion, one woman tried to sum everything up, saying "I've always thought that my husband is just like my son."
The whole group ardently nodded their heads as they all brought up examples one after another, each responding excitedly to the last.
There was only one woman who remained silent, deep in thought. After a while, she emerged suddenly, asking, "Your husbands are all like sons? Why is it that mine is like a grandchild?"
The rest of the women happily conceded.
