This is getting to be ri-goddamn-diculous. We’ve been married for almost a year now, and do you know how many nights we’ve spent together? FOUR. Including our wedding night. Which, in case you’re wondering, was a destination wedding; that was also our honeymoon; that turned out, ever so conveniently for her, to be a business trip. Which began the morning after our nuptials. When I woke up alone.
Now don’t get me wrong, from what I’ve experienced, married life is great. And she was up front with me when we started dating about how passionate she is about her job (strangely enough, I don’t exactly know what she does). She told me it was demanding; that it required a lot of travel. But four nights? Seriously? I thought you settled down when you got married.
It’s not that I don’t enjoy the thrill of the case. It was exhilarating – while we were courting. I’d wake up in the morning, and she would be gone. All that was left was a cryptic note with a series of clues that would eventually lead me to some far off location like Kiev, Moscow or Taipei. When I finally caught up to her, it was, well, it was pornographic. We did things that I can’t repeat. But the next day – I guess I didn’t see the writing on the wall – she was gone, again. And I was left with nothing but a memory, her scent on the pillow and the lonely feeling one only gets the morning after spending a shameful night with a prostitute. Like I said, it was exhilarating. Gallivanting around the globe is fun, but now, I just want to chill at home, watch a movie and eat take-out – with my wife.
It’s getting to the point where I see so little of her that some of my friends don’t believe she exists. And why should they? I don’t even have a wedding band. (She thinks they’re a cliché and says we don’t need some capitalist “symbol of love” to show the world we’re bound to each other – I guess that’s why she doesn’t wear her engagement ring.) Then there’s the fact that we don’t even have a joint residence. I’m still in a bachelor pad. Which does not contain a single trace of her: No pictures, perfume or panties.
Sometimes I wonder if she married me on a dare. Or if a fortune cookie told her to do it. Or if it’s all some kind of front. For what, I’m not sure. Although some strange things have been happening lately. For instance, I found a stash of jewels in my closet the other day. And, sometimes, I think I’m being followed. But I only get that feeling when I’m drunk – which is most of time nowadays. Also, I’ve been getting a lot of calls and random visits from some ACME detective agency. They’ve been pestering me to know what she’s up to and where she is. I laughed and said I’d pay them to dig up the answers for me. This was met by a hardy laugh on their part.
After all this, I have to admit, my geography has never been better. I know the capital of every major city in the world and I’ve been to places I never knew existed. But, when it’s all said and done, I’m ready for her to come home. I’m tired of chasing her around the world and dropping everything whenever she comes calling. The next time it happens, well, there won’t be a next time. I’m putting my foot down. If she doesn’t come home… I… I’ll… I’ll… hey, what the… oh, she just emailed me: “I’m changing my dollars to rupees so I can buy a Hindi dictionary to use in the largest city in India.”
I’m coming honey.