Sharing is for Care Bears

Your wedding day. Waking up at 4am. Having 20 of your near and not particularly dear female relatives watching you get dressed - passing a critical eye over your jewellery, cup size and hair (none of which match up to that of their daughter/daughter in-law). That funny feeling in your stomach – is it nerves or that extra vadai you had last night? The fake hair gun stapled to your head. Weighed down with enough flora to enter at The Chelsea Flower Show. Jewellery. More jewellery. Still not enough. Add some more. Heavy silver anklets designed to make you take tiny shuffling steps that will pass as coyness. Ooh! Some more jewellery! The need to pee immediately after the last safety pin of your intricately tied nine yard sari has been fastened in place.

Now with all this going on is it fair to expect anyone to know exactly what wedding vows they’re agreeing to? Now I’m ok with the whole thing about fidelity, honesty, etc. But with everything going on at the wedding itself (refer paragraph 1) I said yes to sharing. And after almost four years of marriage I think it needs to be re-evaluated.

I was warned about it by well meaning friends and colleagues – “Whatever you do don’t share the duvet.” I heeded their advice for the first 2 years and a bit. But after coming to this country of sub zero temperatures I in my naiveté decided that one queen sized duvet would be so much cosier than 2 singles. In anticipation of the divine, down filled creations imminent arrival matching duvet and pillow covers were bought. What a pretty picture our bed made. Until we got in to it.

Conflicts zones are never pretty – especially when combat takes place between husband and wife. It started off a gentle tussle – honest. A tug from me reciprocated by a tug in the other direction by Beelzebub – I mean my husband. A rather substantial yank in exchange for a whack on the head. All in good fun. Until I felt the bitter cold begin to creep up my exposed calf. And war was declared.

Like most battles, ours has dragged on indefinitely with no sign of peace. Sure we call truces once in a while. Summer. Birthdays. Religious holidays. But the next night all is forgotten and the battle lines are drawn again. It’s not always violent. Psychological warfare can be just as effective. Threats and bribes work equally well too. Using toxic gases was ruled illegal in the Human Rights Convention of 2004 (unless beans had been on the dinner plate that night).

My advice to those of you taking the plunge is this. Sure - promise to be faithful, honest and loving. Heck promise to share if you have to. Share pretty sunsets, chocolate fudge sundaes – your toothbrush if you’re not hygienically inclined. But do not share a duvet. Put it in your pre-nup. Have it cast in stone. Get it tattooed on your foreheads (so much cooler than matching rings don’t you think?) Just don’t share the duvet. Learn from my experiences.

Now if you will all excuse me it’s time to go to sleep. And kick some ass.