I was doing some spring cleaning today with Emily, when I saw a rather old Chinese New Year greeting card inside my personal deposit box. Not having any recollection of how it got there, I decided to open the card up and check out why it’s so important that it was given a special place inside that box.

It was a card from Emily. Sent through snail mail to me many years ago when we’re still teenage lovers. Here’s what it said:

Dear Michael,
Perhaps knowing and understanding you is the best thing that has ever happened in my life.

Regards, Emily

I almost had a stroke, fidgeted a little, before turning to Emily and laughed squarely at her…

Me : “Hahahahhhh kanineh you! What was wrong with you? Hahahhhhh!!” [throws her the card]

Emily : -_-”

Me : “Hahhhahhh!! You should check it out dear.. hahahhh!!”

Emily : [reluctantly open up the card] “OMG!! Ewhhhhh!! I’m getting all the goosebumps already!!”

That’s an understatement. You should have seen her expression when she said that. It’s definitely more than goosebumps.

Amazing isn’t it? You look back at things that you did many years ago, that makes you want to scold yourself - what the fuck was I thinking? It happens all the time. It was as if you were comatosed during that dark period of your life and your biological body got possessed by some really mean ass demon that would do sohai things that you wouldn’t even dreamt of doing…

And now, after time has healed your spiritually unsound life, much to your horror, you start to consciously discover one after another horrifying facts about your past misdeeds, which you don’t even remember of doing…

This is so fucking scary man…

There has been quite a significant number of zits popping up on Emily’s face ever since she got pregnant. As the guilty party who knocked her up, I have been volunteering to squeeze those zits for her (after all, I enjoy squeezing zits). And when I finished squirting a nasty one yesterday, Emily asked me this

“Dear, will you ever disdain me for all these?”

She was picking her nose while she was asking me that. I paused for a fragment of that second there from gazing at her collossal swollen nose - the wavy interlude of young Emily I met a decade ago came wafting in. The fine lass whom I knew from the instance that I saw her… to be the love of my life, and the painful 6 month abstinence I had to endure before she allowed me to even hold her hands. How can I ever forget the love that I had painstakingly sowed for? and the vow that I made inside the registration office in front of that cauliflower-haired biddy - that I’m gonna take care of my wife for the rest of my life? what’s a few squeeze of a zit to me? (those zits are sure fun to pop)

If there indeed were to be anything at all to cause me any inconvenience, I know I can always rip a few farts to even back the odds. This is what commitment’s all about.

“Of course not dear. Don’t be silly” and I gave her that reassuring smile that everything’s gonna be alright (like I’ve just killed an attacking bear).

Emily then smiled back and smears her tainted finger on my T-shirt.

To defecate. To shit. To poop. To take a dump. To take a crap. They all mean the same thing. That is, to get that brown nasty turd out of your body through that narrow orifice of your ass. But for Emily and I, we give this sacred act a unique name - “to output”.

You see, I’m a healthy person. I “output” every morning when I wake up. Except for yesterday. Yesterday, I suddenly became so lazy and stagnant, that I don’t feel like taking a crap at all. So, I just didn’t give a fuck about everything and decided to crap later on in the afternoon (yeah, I can choose to postphone my crapping schedule, let’s just say… I have total control of my own ass)

But Emily felt that it’s not a right thing. It bothered her… not because she’s concerned that the crap might ferment itself multi-folds in my rectal cavity and fuck me up pretty bad, but because she thinks that if I don’t crap, the energy flow of my body would not conform to the Chi at the southeast corner of the house.

morning -
“Dear, aren’t you going to output?”
“No dear, I don’t feel like wanting to do that”

a while later -
“Dear, aren’t you going to output?”
“Ermmm, no dear, I have nothing to output”

a little more while later -
“Dear, have you output-ed today?”
“Nope. I have nothing to output, ok?”

some while later -
“Dear, aren’t you going to output already?”
“ARggghhhhh! Haven’t I told you already?? I don’t want to output! Why are you pestering me to take a dump?? Why?? why?? ”

But she just gave me that nonchalant stare… as if she’s waiting for me to finish whatever I’ve got to say, and would later schedule for the same repetitive badgering. It’s a psychological torment.

About 5 minutes after the emotional protest, I finally gave in. I went to take my dump… (had to force the damn thing out)

Knocked up ladies… they can be horrifyingly twisted at times. (I just hope she won’t ask me to hoover a live cockroach next… just to keep her hormone driven mind appeased…)

I was busy surfing the net at home, about a good 20 feet away from Emily, who’s working on something with her notebook at the coffee table.

Emily : “Dear…”

Me : “hmm?”

Emily : “Can you bring me that mousepad?”

How I wished that I can answer her “No”. But everyone on this planet knows, I can’t. Why? 3 reasons.

1) She’s my wife.
2) I love her.
3) She’s pregnant.

That’s a triple kill for whatever faux inconveniences/excuses I can come up with. Even if I’m suffering a temporary paralysis, I’ll have to think of a way to bring that mousepad to her. (Just in case you don’t know - 20 feet is equivalent to 20 million miles to any bloke in a couch-potato mood at home)

Me : [walks over with the mousepad] “Why don’t you just keep this mousepad under the coffee table? That way, I don’t have to painstakingly bring you the mousepad everytime you need it.”

Emily : [giggles] “I just love asking you to bring me that mousepad. Let’s keep it that way”

I have a strange feeling that it isn’t all about the mousepad. It’s about the twisted ways of a particular odd behaviour. I’ve got 2 months to go before the madness ends…

So, people, if you’re not ready to scale the distance to the moon by foot, don’t get married.

I was crudely awakened from my hibernation afternoon nap. Someone was poking me at my ribs. It was Emily.

“Dear, can you spend some time to accompany me? I can’t get myself to nap…”

“Ugghh.. leave me alone… go watch a TV or something…ZZZZ”

She went on pestering me with more pokes… and some light ticklish scrape of a fingernail on my face, neck, etc… in full hope of doing some injustices by waking me up to join her afternoon insomnia.

“Come on dear, you don’t want to sleep~~ You’ve been sleeping for hourssss. [poke poke]”

“[mumbles] ZZZZ…”

“[poke poke tickle] Wake up dear~~~ be a good boy”

“ARGHH! [wipe drools] What’s the matter with you?? Why can’t you just let me sleep a little longer??”

“You’ve been sleeping for 2 hours. You’d be sleepless tonight if you sleep any longer”

“Oh is it? Well, worry not… I won’t get sleepless. [pause a while]… ZZZ”

I fell into a deep slumber after that & she continued to badger me for another 5 minutes… before I finally responded.

BFFVVOOORRRRT. BRAAAAPPPP. FFFFFFFRRRRTTTT.

That was a hat trick fart, the final one exuded with a little hint of moist in it.

I don’t quite exactly remember how her response was, as I was groggy from the sleep. But I was positive that I heard some yelpings, gaspings and some incomprehensible squawkings. And that was it. I slept happily ever after till dinner time.

Looks like I’ve just discovered a new ability in me that pretty much functions like a skunk. It’s free, it’s organic and the most important of all, it works.