THE GRASS IS NOT ALWAYS GREENER ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE FENCE.

 

Never EVER Talk Bad Of Your Husband To Anyone…Learn!!!
 

A
friend sent me the link to this story, which was also shared by a
writer who like me, does not know the original author of this insightful
piece. I could not resist sharing this, as it contains a lot of useful
lessons for all married people, and those intending to marry. Enjoy the
story, do not miss out on the lessons, and share, as others could learn
from this too. Beautiful story. Really nice one. It is laden with
life lessons for all. The kind of friends we keep, and the kind of
counsel they give us could make or mar our marriages.


One of the
things I learned early, even before I got married, was the avoidance of
unnecessary comparisons/talking ill of my man. I've learned that often
times, people give counsel based on their negative experiences and
project it on to you. If you are not wise, you get drawn in, act on it
and mess up your marriage.

4 solid lessons I learned from this story:
1. Chose your friends wisely.
2. Consciously filter the counsel you receive. Be careful who you listen to.
3. The grass is not always greener on the other side, and not all that glitters is gold.
4. Learn to appreciate and confess positive things about your spouse

How about you?



“Biyi hasn’t worked
for that long?” Dayo’s voice drips with resentment. “For real?” “He’s
been trying,” I say in feeble attempt to defend my husband. “You know
how the economy is.”

…My husband and I had vowed never to bring
in a third party into our relationship but with a bank account screaming
for revival, I need to share my burden with someone else. I grip the
phone. Dayo is unusually quiet. “You still there?” I ask. “Hello?” “I am
here,” she says. “I just didn’t know things were this bad. And all this
while, I thought Biyi was providing for the home.” But he is, I argue
silently. Well, maybe not financially for now, but in every way else,
Biyi is a rock. “It’s not that bad.” My words sound frail. Dayo clucks
her tongue. “You might as well be a widow.”
The words hit me like a fist. “Na you I blame,” she continues, oblivious to the damage her words have caused.

“Me? Why?” She is blaming me for this? Seriously?
“Why do you keep paying the bills?”
“Because there is no one else to do it,” I protest, upset.
“For real? He drives your car too?”
“He needs it,” I mutter. “To attend job interviews and stuff. He gets back late sometimes.”
“How late are you talking?
“Nine, ten…ish.”

Dayo
pauses for a second. “I hate to say this gurl, but your husband
spending your money on another woman.” Whoa! Hang on. Where did that
come from? “Haba, Dayo. Biyi would never—” “Look, I know men,” she
slices in. “You are his moneybag and he will take you for a ride as long
as it takes. Where is your dignity, gurl?” Ride. Dignity. Moneybag.
Ouch. “But he’s a good guy,” I manage. Can my husband be using me? It
had never crossed my mind in the past, but I now wonder if Biyi is
actually having an affair.

“I trust my wonderful Dennis…,” Dayo
is saying. I barely listen. My eyes are on the clock. It’s almost
midnight and Biyi isn’t home. I force myself to hear what Dayo is saying
about Dennis Ono, her multimillionaire-oil- company-golden-husband.
Gosh I envy her life, her perfect marriage. “My marriage is wonderful,”
Dayo says, as if in affirmation to my undeclared words. “But only
because I show Dennis who the boss is. He cannot try nonsense with me.
Abi, you think it’s easy to get ten thousand pounds a month as pocket
money?” She really gets ten grand a month? That’s like, my entire annual
salary in my crappy job plus bonuses. Life is unfair. Honestly. “I am
Biyi’s wife,” I say. “I cannot just desert him.” Or can I? At this rate…
“In that case,” there is an edge to her voice now, “give him an
ultimatum. He gets a job in two weeks or you are out of that marriage.”

“I—”
“Look, I know his type,” she says with conviction. “He conveniently won’t get a job as long as you keep dishing out your money.”
“But—”
“Starve him,” she adds. “No sex. Make life hell. You are not an ATM machine.”

Keys
jangle in the hallway. Biyi is home. “Talk later,” I say to Dayo. “He’s
back.” “Stand your ground,” Dayo whispers menacingly. “Ultimatum. Two
weeks.” I hang up with a sigh. My husband is leaning against the door
frame. For a second my heart falters. He looks tired, drawn. But Dayo’s
words punctuate my compassion. “Where have you been?” Biyi gives me a
side smile. “No hug?” I jerk my head at the wall clock.” Its midnight.”
“I had a job interview in Birmingham,” he says. “I called you tell you I
was stuck in traffic but I kept getting your voicemail. What’s wrong?” I
cock my head. Is that a whiff of female perfume? It is. Dayo is right.
He has been with another woman. With my car. Spending my money. My head
spins. “Biyi,” I glare at him, “Where are you coming from?” He steps
back, surprised. “I went to Birmingham—”
“Did you get it?” I screech. “The job?”
Biyi shakes his head. “I didn’t—”
This is the last straw. I wrench my hand out. “My car keys.”
He gives me a hard level stare. “What is wrong with you, Toni? Did I offend you?”
“Pass my keys!”

He
thrusts the car keys to into my palm. I push past him, grab my duffel
bag and stuff my overnight things into it. I know I am acting crazy but I
have to show him that I would not be taken for a ride. That I am not a
moneybag. That I have dignity. I zip the bag up and spin around. My
husband is staring at me. “Is everything all right with you,
sweetheart?”
“Get out of my way.”
“Where are you going with that bag?”
“I need to clear my head.” I am still yelling.
“Can we talk first?” Biyi suggests.
“I don’t want to talk. Get out of my way.”
He
moves out of my path. I swipe a hand across my face, smearing my cheeks
with mascara. “Don’t look for me. I will be back when my head clears.” I
rush out of the house, jump into my car. My rage doubles as the
feminine scent permeates the car. He has been with a woman in my car. I
feel like an idiot.

* * *

I pull up in front of Dayo’s
mansion. Her husband’s Porsche is in the driveway, and the porch lights
illuminate my dreary form as I reach the door. I ball my fists to knock,
but a scream freezes the motion.
“Kill me!” I hear Dayo scream.
“Good for nothing idiot. Womaniser of the century!” Whoa. Momentarily, I
am unable to move. My hand hovers in the air. Dull thuds, muffled
screams. Dennis curses. “I warned you never to serve me stew that is not
freshly cooked!” “Am I your slave?” Dayo yells back. “If you want fresh
stew, get your PA to cook it for you. Or you think I don’t know about
her? You think…”
Dayo’s words are silenced by another thump. My hands
fall to my side as a flurry of blows stifle her cries. I want call the
police, do something…anything. But I cannot move. And so I shut my eyes
tight and listen as my friend is pummelled by her husband. The beating
stops. I should dash to my car, but something holds me back. “I am sorry
I got you upset darling,” Dayo finally says. Her voice is laced with
pain. “It is my fault. I should have cooked for you. I…Toni wouldn’t let
me get off the phone…its her fault.”
“Next time you talk to me like
that, I will tattoo a punch on your forehead,” Dennis growls. “Get into
the kitchen and make me fresh stew. And do something about that leech
you call a friend.”
That is enough for me. I sprint back to my car and drive home.

* * *
A
knock sounds on the window. Biyi. I wind down and he gives me a smile.
“Head clear now?” he asks. “Leave me alone,” I mutter. Dayo’s wonderful
Denis beats her up? And she never mentioned?
“I will leave you alone
in two seconds,” Biyi says. There is a twinkle in his eyes. “But first,
get out of the car.” I oblige, grudgingly. “What?” He reaches under the
car seat and pulls out a small basket. “I didn’t come home straight from
the interview. I stopped over at the Perfume shop to get you this.” He
hands the basket over. Inside is a range of exotic feminine perfumes and
a small card. I pull the card open, read the words: “Thank you for your
support during the hardest times of my life! I love you.”

“That’s
why I was late,” he explains as he pulls me into a warm embrace. “You
have been so good to me, Toni. I couldn’t have asked for a better wife.”
I can’t reply. My throat is lumpy.
“When you left the house to clear
your head, I got a call back from the recruiter,” he says with a beam.
“God answers prayers, babe. I got the job. It’s a package you won’t
believe. Let’s go in. I’ll tuck you into bed and you can tell me what’s
bothering you?”

* * *
I awaken to a text message from Dayo.
“Denis is flying me to Seychelles this weekend. This is what you get
when you stand your ground. You have to be a no nonsense gurl! Don’t you
just love my life? Ciao sweetheart xxx.”

I type a quick response back: “Ciao! and i deleted her number right away.

Now,
this is one story every woman should read. The grass is never greener
on the other side, best believe that. No matter how good a friend’s
marriage it, NEVER EVER compare with yours. It’s DEADLY and could cost
you so much!

by Abimbola Dare