Just the other week, the geezer folk awoke to some disturbing news of death of a peer.
The circumstances were as curious as they were mysterious, even worrying before annoying. That the dead geezer had been knocked by his wife; not on the highway but at his domicile's gate and dragged a few metres before the car stopped and he was taken to a nearby facility for medical help. Well, poor guy did not live long thereafter. And as always, the rumour mill went in overdrive, with as many conspiracy theories as there could be found.
Today, we explore one angle to this, not to point a finger or apportion blame, but as a point of reference to learn - maybe we can live to die another day. That the geezer married a drop- dead gorgeous wench way below his peer age is not debatable. In fact we love them younger. But what lifestyle risk does one run if in their earlier thirties they meet and marry a teenager?
The relationship, if not delicately handled, may swing from spouse to guardian to prison warder and who knows where it could end? Either you learn to be forever young, or measure up to your young spouse's ways or help her without coming off as condescendingly patronising. Okay folks, sure most of you have heard that morning 'hairdryer' session from your bedmate for coming in late. This session, once a week, is bad enough, but imagine you were getting this on a daily?
And without relenting, you give your bedmate all reason to fume at you every morning of every week. What follows may not be predictable but certainly is not enviable. Stories flying around suggest the deceased geezer was home more during day than night and not awake but sleeping from long nights awake. Surely this would get even Mother Tereza, were she a wife, vexed.
No one is suggesting that you should always be home before the chickens come to roost but surely arriving home at cock- crow on a daily basis can only serve to flip your mate. And when they flip, they go the 180 degrees, nowhere in between. The argument that you provide everything doesn't suffice for the she folk; they demand more than just the material provisions; they want your presence.
Of course geezers are not hard-wired for baby-sitting activities, but again, if you call her babe, then baby her, you brought that upon yourself!
This space is not suggesting that the deceased folk was killed by his wife, more so for the above reasons, but the coincidence is a point of worry. I mean take, for example, the other nerve-wrecking story from the same week where in a fit of malice, this wench in Mukono chopped off her man's manhood over a missed call, from? Guess?
An unknown number! Not Julie, Carol or even Jackie, but an unknown number! How deadly jealous can a wench get? Then she says not a word, treats her hubby to a good supper complete with juice, sings him a lullaby and in the thick of the night, she prowls and chops them nuggets off, ouch!
Doesn't this spell end days for geezers? So, we can not open doors for our wives, have to sleep with at least one eye open for fear of being 'de-balled' and generally worry about prison should your employer think you to be dipping your hands in the company till. Where will a geezer take refugee?