He was like a small puppy. Panting, fussing, paying attention to everything that happened. He ran this way and that, getting and fetching. Did she have enough? All she wanted? Could he do more? Could he? Could he?
To make it worse, she lapped it up. It was clear who wore the pants in this relationship. Being a helper monkey as he was I found disturbing as I began to wonder if he had any character of his own.
Often, I’d see him out at his clothes line hanging out the washing careful to hang her underpants the right way out as I’d heard him being berated for hanging them out inside out.
I questioned why this man needed to be reassured as often as he did. Was his wife a wanderer, ever threatening to leave him if she didn’t get what she required. Was he so insecure as to pander to her every request?
Some people are like that I know. Maybe he saw in her a person he couldn’t get enough of. His running around after her at the expense of his own dignity was a sacrifice he was willing to make.
He did wear pants I should point out, but not as securely as I might have thought.