Tally

The husband leaves shirts lying around and bedsheets rumpled up... me, I keep even my clothes-to-wash folded up in separate piles. On the other hand, he makes notes and then notes-on-notes and finally notes-on-notes-on-notes for EVERYTHING, while I'm more of an I'm going to think out loud once I get to the store type person. As for food, you can practically sing-song 'Jeera rice daal fry' with him while I take particular pride in being unpredictable and experimentative. Seriously, I order the daal with red wine in it.

In short, he's twenty eight and I'm twenty four and life is hilarious. My only point of contention thus far is that he's left me all alone at home with a giant Toblerone bar (AND it's FRUIT N NUT) which is just grossly unfair. His only grouse could well be my blanket-hogging, but when he switches off the fan, my victory's obsolete, so whatever.

This really is peace on earth after all the wedding madness. May I suggest always always marrying someone you're madly in love with? There's no easier way to survive the event.

PS: I see a lucrative career ahead for post-marriage-sorter-out'ers, they'd make more than wedding planners if only they'd take care of all the packing, unpacking, shopping, reshopping, etc. You heard it here first.