Ungrateful Gregory

THE UNGRATEFUL GREGORY

This morning, I rang up Emily at her office to let her know that straight after work, Id be heading to Tom and Catherines for a little get-together to celebrate our work holiday.
“If you fancy coming along, do,” I said offhandedly, fully expecting she would stay home, reading or glued to her computer, as usual.
“Alright,” she replied, just as indifferently. But at lunchtime, she slipped off to the department store to hunt for a present for me. The perfume counter was teeming with women.

Emilys eyes were drawn immediately to a bottle of expensive aftershaveon the glossy black box was a suave fellow, jacket draped carelessly over his shoulder, a smug squint and a cheeky half-smilelooked just like me, Gregory.
The saleswoman was deftly wrapping gifts in shiny foil, sticking on bows. Suddenly, an elderly lady shuffled up and said,
“Ah, girls, youre buying your men all these lovely colognes, but itll be someone else doing the sniffingand admiring those snazzy ties, too.”
The ladies all burst out laughing. But Emily found herself thinking, “Its always been like this with Gregory. Everything for him, and he never sees it. When we were young, I was hopelessly in love. He let me. During university, he did the bare minimumI wrote his essays at night. When the children arrived, I took on all the worry.”

Of course, in the early days I was grateful. But then, I just took everything she did as a given. From the outside, youd say we were perfecta nice house, a peaceful life, clever, well-behaved children. But the children grew up and moved on. It was me and Emily, just us again. She realised there was something missing.

Her mother had warned her about me, all those years ago. “Just look at himfar too handsome for his own good, knows it, and cant stop admiring himself. Attractive men are everyones men. They catch everyones eye, but the last to get a look-in is the wife.” Mum was right, all those years agopoint one, an unloved wife. Point two, shes now forty-three. Point three, who really needs her now?

Emily wandered over to the window. The sun was out in earnest, proper spring weather. “Soon itll be Mothers Day, she thought sadly, and whats the point? Ill be alone again Lifes nearly all spent. What now?”

From the street below came cheerful chirping, then a determined tapping at the glass. Emily looked down. A scruffy little sparrow strutted along the windowsill, peering at her with one bright eye.

“That has to be a sign,” she thought. Right then, the clock on the wall began to chime.
“So, theres still time. If nobody loves me, Ill just have to love myself,” she resolved. With a bang of the door, Emily dashed down the stairsfirst to the hairdressers, then the shops.

By half-six, her reflection stared back in admiration at a mysterious stranger perched in the computer chair. A little black dress, a chic crop, highlights swept through her fringe, and deep, enigmatic eyes (eyeliner, eyeshadow, perfectly blended). Her lips, shaped with pencil and gloss, were pouty and temptingly curved.

“There it isforty isnt the end; lifes just getting going.”

She strolled to the kitchen, fetched herself a glass of wine, and clinked it against her own reflection. “And do I really need a husband who cant appreciate a woman like this?”

Needless to say, she rocked up to the party at Tom and Catherines, swaying just so on her delicate heels. A little confusion at first, then several hands reached out to help with her coat, pull up a chair, or offer her an apple. “Oh! Youre saying my husband is here? I must have missed him in the crowd”

I was floored. Such a grand entrance, so self-assured. I didnt know how to respondeveryone was so full of admiration.

In the morning, wanting to reclaim lost ground, I put on my old authoritative tone: “Well, are we having breakfast today, or not?” But Id misjudged the situationmaybe I wasnt quite awake yetbecause the woman beside me wasnt the same as before, no longer the sort to jump at every request.

Next to me lay a serene, playful woman, utterly confident in herself.
Without even turning her tousled, multicoloured hair, she purred,
Have you made breakfast yet, darling?
She stretched, ready to drift off again, thinking, Thats right, love. And if not, its back to step three.

Sometimes, its only when youre faced with losing something good that you realise what you hadand that self-respect is the most important ingredient of all.