I don’t know when it happened.
One day, I’m the king of the castle.
The lord of all I survey.
My word is law.
My rule absolute.
But that day has passed.
It’s a new day now, and I’m feeling a tad…disoriented.
You see, a few weekends ago, my wife had her girlfriend over.
In anticipation of her arrival, I cooked (barbecued actually) and cleaned.
After D (my wife’s friend) arrived, I waited on she and my wife, hand and foot, attending to their every need.
As the evening progressed, I found myself cleaning up after them.
“Yes dear?” became my mantra.
I was a bonafide manservant.
The houseboy of Half of a Yellow Sun.
It was right after I poured them each another glass of wine, and began washing the dishes, that I had the most shocking revelation:
I’ve been domesticated!
There I was, standing at the kitchen sink, as my wife and her girl chatted about this, that and the other in the dining room.
I found myself (half) listening to their conversation, content in my domestication, offering my two cents from the peanut gallery.
Very much periphery to their merriment.
As I turned and smiled at some clever thing the wife was saying, I had an out-of-body experience.
The old Stephen had a few words for this pathetic domesticated creature, and it went a little something like this…