Marriage Comedy Blog : Cleopatra Cries & the Lizard Wars

The Wife came across a recommendation on Insta about a movie we should watch. This would have been simple about three decades earlier where the sequence of events would be to switch on TV… watch TV. Those were simpler times and I had written about it earlier. The instant case however, turned into a marriage comedy blog.

Marriage Comedy and TV

Today, we have Netflix and Prime and Sony Liv and Hotstar and Zee. It took us two days to figure out where the movie was hidden. Then our house has three TVs, two Amazon Fire sticks, three set top boxes, attached sound bars, some additional speakers and a HiFi music system (attached to the TV). Well equipped for entertainment you would agree. But then we also have 127 remote controls.  

The Wife, a very accomplished lady otherwise, has some grievous flaws too. For one, she just cannot get along with Remotes. After randomly pressing random buttons on random remotes she, with the imperiousness of Cleopatra, will merely hand over the remote(s) to me with a grumpy ‘nothing is working in this house’. I do try and explain that pressing the temperature up/down button on the AC remote is unlikely to change channels on the TV, howsoever hard you press (or slap) the remote.’ Nope.

Finding the correct remote, I hand it over to The Wife with some simple instructions on which buttons to use. Well, she is of independent mind and those buttons are precisely the ones she will not press. Now a miffed, AND an imperious Cleopatra, she hands over the remote back to me.

Our house you see, has some clearly demarcated domains. One of them, operating the TV falls under mine. Mastery over juggling three remotes being my superpower, I get the movie going and head to my bar to get a drink as movie accompaniment.

Enters the Lizard.  And the marriage comedy begins. Drats!

In my house comprising two members, I have been designated as the Chief Lizard Chaser. The Wife is the Chief Climb On The Bed And Shriek Shrieker. (She, never one to exercise otherwise, can display commendable agility when doing that).

I can take or leave these amiable creatures, but The Wife does not love fauna. I have tried to explain the many advantages of having lizards at home to her. They, for example are natures pest controllers and are remarkably effective in keeping a house free from insects, spiders (another one of her pet peeves) and ants.

Some cultures I have further tried explaining, consider lizards symbols of good luck and prosperity. I have forwarded links of useful websites such as this, and pointed out that lizards ‘carry an enzyme that purges deer ticks of the pathogen that causes Lyme Disease’. She unscientific in her mental setup and clearly not a fan of zoology, countered with something uncharitable about Lyme Disease that I cannot reproduce here in this family blog.

So, this is the general scene in our house when she espies a lizard.

She shrieks at 200 dB.

Startled, but being a loving husband, I ignoring my perforated tympanic membrane, drop my whiskey glass in panic and rush to the room that I heard the shriek coming from.

I sight The Wife atop the bed, looking as unlike Cleopatra as possible, holding onto the hem of her garments between her knees and breathlessly pointing in a general direction. I get it. No words needed.

Enter Chatrapati Shivaji

By virtue of having been married to her for 119 years, I know what needs to be done. I rush to the kitchen and come back armed with two brooms, looking I am sure, like a somewhat foolish version of Chatrapati Shivaji, and head for the general direction indicated earlier.

The difficult task is made even more difficult by the fact that The Wife, while not a fan of lizards, does not want a murder in the house either. ‘DON’T KILL IT!’ is her plea. Apparently, I am only to shoo it away, out through the front door. Simple, right? No. Because I didn’t tell you that the bedroom is on the first floor of our house. So first I need to close all other doors leading to all other rooms. Then I need to jam the small space between the floor and the door with towels and/or newspaper.  That done, I gingerly enter the bedroom.

Now, dear readers, and as said earlier, I have no particular like/dislike for lizards. I intensely dislike however, their nifty footwork. They are fast. And quick to slither behind heavy wardrobes, sofas, beds, etc. Which of course necessitates some back breaking lifting and sliding of heavy furniture. And just when you have managed to move a 200 kg wardrobe by 12 inches, the lizard displaying the irksome footwork referred to earlier, will vanish under the bed.

Chatrapati Shivaji Struggles

Now try to move the bed. Not easy; because The Wife is still directing the campaign from atop the bed; with the hem of her clothes still firmly held between her knees. The blasted lizard meanwhile has made another dash and got under the sideboard to wholly unhelpful shrieks of ‘there, there, there’ by The Wife from the safety of her commanding heights.

I stoop and look below the sideboard. Our eyes meet. I notice that in proportion to body size, the lizard has huge eyes. The lizard looks at me warily through one such eye, but not as warily as I look at her. (I was wary because my altercations with pests rarely ends well for me. Please read here to get a fuller understanding).  I bang one side of the sideboard with one broom, and try to sweep the lizard out from under with the other. The Wife is full of suggestions and so she suggests making some noise. I start uttering the utterly nonsensical ‘psst, psst, psst…..’ in sync with my broom sweeps. The lizard climbs up the back of the sideboard. Resultantly, I have to move that. I do and take a swipe at the lizard. To partial success. Partial because while I do make contact with the thing, I only manage to detach the tail. Now I have two slithering things on the floor causing momentary confusion. The Wife, seeing two wriggly things on the floor where she expected only one, covers both her ears and raises the decibel level of her shrieking to 225.

Action Moves a Floor Below

Ultimately however, I am able to distinguish between the tail and it’s owner and the wild chase begins. The lizard goes hither and then thither. I follow, hithering and then thithering, flailing wildly with both brooms. I am able to coax/threaten/shove the lizard to the staircase landing, and then down each step with some more ‘psst pssting’. We reach the ground floor.

Darn it! The main door is closed.

This needs me to take my eyes off the lizard and open the door. I do so and turn around; to find the lizard has made a dash for the unknown. The Wife can be heard though, seeking a situation report from the first floor. “Gone?”. She enquires in a tone that I now find grating.

Chatrapati Shivaji Victorious

I carry out a recce of the ground floor and after an hour or so, sight the thing on a curtain. Aha! Some more of psst pssting and much urgings by the broom later, I am able to shoo the thing out of the main door. I slam the door triumphantly. I strut the steps up to the bedroom just as Chatrapati Shivaji would have done on completion of a successful military campaign. The Wife is still on the bed of course, waiting for the all clear.

“Gone?” she queries. I confirm. She, puts on the Cleopatra mask again and steps off the bed.

Not The End!

And that dear reader is how it usually goes. Lizard, gone. Back spasm, acquired. Whiskey, spilt. My Chief Lizard Chaser Domain, preserved. We finally settle down for the movie. Only to catch a glimpse of yet another lizard peeping coyly from behind the TV…The marriage comedy blog to be continued…

And finally dear Reader, if reading this made you smile, please forward it to two friends who take life too seriously.

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