It's not like I asked for it. I didn't exactly go up to him and say, "Please will you crap on me as though a hippopotamus was flying overhead?". I didn't say that. I didn't even think it. So how come he did?

The male human being is an odd creature. It's no longer an ape, but still not quite refined enough for intelligent interraction on a daily basis. It takes too much brain power, apparently, so the ones with the smallest dicks don't stand a hope in hell. Whoever first said that man thinks with his penis wasn't far wrong. Okay, okay, so I'm exaggerating. So shoot me. It couldn't be any more painful than this, anyway. Come on, take your best shot.

You can't do it, can you? You're given a target - not even a moving target at the moment, seeing as I can't even be bothered dragging my arse off the chair to do the Space Invader dance - and you just can't bring yourself to pull the trigger. Sure, you can aim with the best of them, but pulling that index finger back a fraction is just too difficult. It takes a special kind of thoughtlessness to do it, you see. Think about it for too long and you back away slowly, as though the great aunt with the facial hair and fuzzy warts were coming in for a kiss, but acting before you've truly given it any thought, and the pain hits the other person with such speed and force that they'd think you'd literally pulled out their heart through their chest.

Am I giving him enough credit? Good question, and rightly asked. I've given that man so much credit he could buy the moon on a year's interest free, with monthly installments for the next 492 years. But he throws it back eventually. So, not only does he own the moon now, too, it's me who's paying for the bloody thing.

You're probably sitting there right now wondering what I did to deserve it. I imagine you'll also think me conceited to say, "nothing", but that's your prerogative. It doesn't change the answer, though. I didn't do one little thing that could have warranted such treatment. On the contrary, he was given love, support, trust, compassion, understanding, you name it. I've been generous to a fault. I guess that's my own little crime, and now I'm paying for it, but why should I have to? Why should the good people always end up with all the shit? The good die young, from all accounts. But my god, do they ever suffer first!

Okay, yes, I know I'm starting to sound cynical. Not just starting to, hey? Well, that's what you get being married to him, I suppose. Cynicism comes with the job. Every passing year the job description for 'Wife' changes. Not only is cynicism on the list, but so are sarcasm, flippancy, distrust, boredom, retribution and justice. And those are just the ones I feel appropriate to talk about.

I was 23 when we married. I look back on it with some fondness, obviously, but now there's a huge black cloud threatening a storm where there was once glorious sunshine. The photos will never be quite the same again. They seem to hide something. Or is it just that not everything is known yet? Either way, it's not especially pleasant to see, but what can you do? I've tried everything a few times already, and there comes a stage when you just have to say, "enough is enough". I reached that stage some time ago, but I naively returned on the promise of bigger and better. Emotionally, of course. Goodness, no, not physically - it would be a crime to give someone more brain power than he could cope with.

It's not that I regret marrying him, just that I regret not following my head more than I did. It's all too easy to become the sheep. The problem arises when you finally realise, after years of following, that the shepherd is blind. It was never a crook he carried, but a white stick. And the sheepdog? Not likely. Turns out it was Guidedog. Still, it's not all been bad, it's just selective memory doing its job. At least it means I can't bury my head in the sand.

What will I do? I'll find my wings, that's what. I have friends and I have myself. I need to start trusting me, my thoughts, my ideas, my dreams, goals, aspirations. I need to pick up the crook and be the one to start leading the way, and if my sheep follows, that's his choice, but at least I'll be walking with my eyes wide open. At least I'll be able to see the path I'm travelling. And who knows? One day I might even reach my destination.

Copyright © K Wakeman