Should've Said No

“Daddy, I want that pink doll!” said she at the age of seven. The child ran up to the shelf and picked up the packaged doll. “Please daddy?” She flashed a toothless grin. The man bought her so many things, anything for his princess.

At some point of his life, the man was demoted to the lowly position of his daughter’s grumpy guard. Previously, he liked to think of himself as her knightly warrior. He never figured out when it happened, but her thirteenth birthday would have been a close guess.That was when those annoying hormones started kicking in and going out of control. Many times had she swung her moods against her father, giving reasons as mind-boggling as her mother’s.

“I hate you,” said the daughter one Friday night. He demanded that she returned home from her friend’s party early, otherwise she would have stayed past midnight.

She walked into her room, refusing to look at him. “Stop treating me like a child!” she yelled, her face turning red with anger, before slamming the heavy door.

The man frowned while looking at the door that shut his daughter away. “You’re only thirteen,” said he. Then, he took a deep breath, adjusted his round spectacles, and turned to his heavy load of paperwork. “Teenagers.” She was starting to resemble her crazed mother. Curse his luck.

So he lived his long marriage in daily agony, sandwiched between the dramas of the two witches that he couldn’t control. Life was a pain, since he cohabitated with the people that hated him the most. It was like living in the icy arctic--most of the time he was alone and freezing, but wary of camouflaged polar bears that might startle him with a jump before eating him.

It was another Monday morning, and the house was having its usual bout of morning blues… or chaos.

“Put your socks into the laundry basket!” yelled the wife, throwing the odorous garment onto him.

His daughter stormed into the room. “Dad, where did you leave my pencil box?”

The man groaned. “I never took it.” He scrunched up his nose, and then pulled the sock away from his face.

“Are you ignoring me?” said the wife, her hands on her hips and her face contorted into a scowl.

“Can you help me find it? I need it for school,” said the daughter. “Also I think that my allowance is too little.”

The man sat up and shifted his gaze to and fro the two ‘ladies’. Their hairs were still messy, not yet combed and neatened. They looked at him with fiery accusatory glares, and they were waving their hands around, trying to get his attention. Their mouths were moving, but only incomprehensible words flew at him. He sighed as he placed his hands on his forehead and closed his eyes, trying to shut out the noise.

“Are you listening?” said the witches in unison, their voices sharp.

The man nodded, though he really wasn’t listening at all. “Sorry,” he mumbled reluctantly, hoping that they would stop blaming him for whatever he did wrong. He got out of bed languidly, stumbled past the two shrieking females and entered the bathroom, shutting the wooden door behind him. There was a quick bang on the door and a few more shouts, before they gave up and walked away.

Finally, some silence. He looked into the mirror and saw the dark circles under his eyes. Mornings used to be calmer.

“I’m heading out,” said the man. He straightened his tie, feeling a sense of melancholic nostalgia—his wife straightened his tie for him in the past. The woman was reading the newspapers, munching on a slice of butter toast. She gave him a flimsy wave, not bothering to look at him. His daughter didn’t even respond. She simply shrugged, and continued texting with her mobile phone. The man turned away from them, slipped on his shoes, and grabbed his suitcase. He walked out of the house, not receiving a single ‘goodbye’ from either of his family.

Work used to be a chore, but now it was a dreary kind of peace. The papers piled up next to him and he ploughed through them willingly, getting lost in the momentum of it. It was also a necessity— money always made the women happy. And happy women meant less trouble, so he tried to earn more money.

“So how’s life?” said good ol’ friend Tom. The men had their daily chat at Starbucks every lunch break.

The man shrugged, and took a sip from his cup. “Nothing eventful—rose amongst the thorns as always.”

“Daughter can’t stand parents?” said Tom, giving the man a knowing look. “Don’t worry they grow to become more sensible.”

“I’m not talking about my daughter.”

Tom laughed. “No offense, but I wouldn’t exactly call your wife a rose.”

“None taken, but I was talking about myself,” said the man, his expression dead serious.

Tom coughed, and then stirred his iced mocha latte with his straw. “I… wouldn’t call you a rose either,” he said, “speaking of wives, my son is getting married next month.”

The man raised a brow. “Really? He must be a very happy lad.”

“He can’t wait for it,” said Tom.

The man gave a quick thought to his marriage. Back then, he saw it as the happiest day of his life too. His wife was actually beautiful twenty-years ago, with apple-colored cheeks and long smooth undamaged hair. She didn’t seem so bad, her personality was quite nice. So he joyfully walked up to the altar, and signed himself up for the worst thing he could. What a mistake. Women changed so drastically.

“You should tell your son to just say no to the marriage,” said the man, sighing. “Run away from the altar, and refuse to agree.”

Tom frowned. “That’s a terrible thing to say.”

“Oh come on, you understand, you’ve been complaining about your wife ever since you got married.”

The friend leaned back and nodded. “But the lad has got to learn.”

“That’s true; it’s just this stupid thing that all men do when they’re young,” said the man.

Tom looked down at his coffee cup. “Should’ve just said no huh?”

“Yep,” the man replied, “should’ve said no.”

The man sat in the café with his friend. They were both silent, taking momentary sips of bitter coffee. He pondered over his fate, and wondered how he managed to get himself caught in the net of marriage. Oddly, the horrible times with his wife allowed him to relate with Tom’s experiences. Perhaps his fate was simply an inevitably destiny, something that every grown man had to go through. Still, he wished that he had been smarter, and fled when he could have. Instead, he nodded his head stupidly and stepped into the lioness’s den.