jagey's list

Before class one night, I shared my sentiments over husbands who check too much. This progressed to the little irritating things that men do. Later, my classmate Jagey offered to share a man's POV. These are the things I learned:

1. A man's ego is a big deal. It's hard-wired in him. If you are an intellectually superior wife, you should be bright enough to understand that it's not something you flaunt when the husband's with you, unless you want to pick a fight.

2. Talk to him. A man can't take hints. When you want him to change a lightbulb, you have to tell him exactly when you want it changed. You can't go on pretending to bump into things in the darkened kitchen for a month. He just doesn't get it until you actually say, "Right now." And use simple words. If you talk for an hour, the actual request gets lost in the translation.

3. Men are pigs (Jagey's actual words). They're just different. You'll just get tired of asking him to hang his towel on the hook after taking a shower, or to be careful when pulling a shirt from the closet because the whole pile gets messed up. He will always be looking for socks. I'm taking this lightly. I'm not even talking about farting on the dinner table.

4. Don't rub it in. If you earn more than he does, you can't just buy P5,000- peso shoes every two weeks and say "Well, I can afford it" when he finds out. Better to hide the shoes under the office table. :-)

5. Relearn the loving look. Jagey says to get past the minor irritations, you should try to remember how you looked at him when you realized you loved him already. You should recall the HHWW sessions (if you don't remember what that is, you should seriously re-think why you fell in love with him in the first place).

Okay, so I had a few days to reflect on this. And last night, he had a couple of beers with his friends before dinner. It was one of the things that piss me off. I was looking at him across the table. I knew I was frowning, but I tried to remember how the dog looks adoringly at him. I tried to remember the night we got drunk around a campfire on Good Friday, and how I thought he looked good enough to eat.

He looked up.

"What's with the look?" he said.
"What look?" I said. I thought I looked lovestruck, staring at him over the bowl of adobo.
"You look like your cat contemplating the murder of a mouse."

Oh, Jagey, I have a long way to go.

when death do us part

Last weekend my daughter asked for money to buy cookies with. As I handed her some coins, she asked, "Mama, when you die, who will give me money?" I said she didn't have to worry, I don't think I'm going to die soon, but when I do, Papa will give the money. She nodded and went her way.

Later, she came to me again. She asked when I'm going to die. Then later, if I will die when she's grown up.

I told her that we don't know when we're going to die, but mostly people grow really old and get sick before we die. As she can see, I'm not yet old, and I'm not sick. I could tell she was anxious, but she was relentless. She asked who's going to take care of her baby sister if I die.

My daughter knows death as something that happens to old relatives, like my grandmother and my dad, but she was too young then, and she has never seen a dead person. She knows it happens to pets, but she has not wept tears over a puppy or a bird. I think she was trying to come to terms with death as a personal thing, as something that forever takes away someone she loves. And she was finding it difficult.

I could not explain that even adults such as me have trouble coming to terms with death. Oh, would that I could tell her I'd be around forever. To an eight-year-old, it would be an assurance that her world would be safe, but the lie would hurt her when it happens.

I hope I'll be around a long time, for her sake. But I also hope that I have helped her understand the inevitability of death, so that when it happens and it breaks her heart, she could smile again later and live on.

Salma Hayek's curls

I went to the parlor yesterday to get my hair permed. I wanted to look like Salma Hayek.

I have natural curls in my hair, but they don't bounce and form ringlets. I had a perm some two years ago and I thought it looked fine, so I breezed into the parlor and announced my intention.

The gay stylist said no. Imagine my outrage.

After I had insisted a couple of times that yes, it's what I wanted, and yes, I already know how I'd look like with curls, the stylist sat me down. He explained that I had very fine hair and perming would damage it. He said I had nice wavy hair, and what I could do instead was to have it styled and load it with conditioner. When I had calmed down I asked if he didn't believe in 'The customer is always right.'

No, he said. His job is to make hair look beautiful. If he had given me a perm and my hair started to look ugly after a couple of days, I would have been disappointed and he would have failed in his job. He said he was not after the money I'd pay, but that I should be satisfied enough with the service to make me want to come back.

I liked that. How nice it would be if we all worked the same way: knowing what our job is and doing it the way it should be done. Sometimes we forget that it's not always about the money. And yes, sometimes what matters is not that the customer is right (and gets his way), but that you give what is good for the customer.

He gave me a trim and a hot oil treatment. I got his name and shook his hand. I am not a fan of beauty parlors, but you know, I think I'll go see him again in a couple of weeks. Perhaps I'll let him try the 'hair spa' on me. I may not end up looking like Salma Hayek (I have serious doubts now), but I bet I'll end up liking myself more.