My Wife
As the valentine is coming, I’d like to write something about my wife, to thank her for her love.
My wife seems living right the simple and happy life that many modern girls reject. I seldom hear her complaining. In fact, she is on so good terms with herself and the world around her that I feel sometimes envious. People often feel depressed when they found themselves excelled by others. But when my wife hears some good news of others, whom whether we are familiar with or not, she feels as happy and exciting as if it were of herself. She may show her admire, but nothing suggesting jealousy. That attitude flows straight from her nature, guided by no teachings. Indeed, she seems free from all pretension.
In my eyes, she’s an ideal woman, an ideal wife. I often feel worried that women’s movements that often go to extremes and modern education, which seems to completely deny the differences between men and women, may one day cause the distinction of her species. If it does happen, how dull the world would become!
She possesses nearly all the virtues a girl may have. She pays great attention to her appearance. Besides housework, a significant part of her free time would see her holding a small mirror in the left hand, and a comb, sometimes an instrument for trimming eyebrows, in the right, looking and combing, combing and looking, until every single piece of her hair is in its right place and the whole in a perfect state. Sometimes she does this job in front of the large mirror of ours, turning this way around then that.
“What on earth are you doing there?” I often joke.
“Enjoy the sight of myself, since no other soul in the world (she means me) would bother to have a glance at me!”
There would be times when she brings home a piece of cloth. Half of her few dresses are made of these pieces by local tailors. She thinks it is a more economic way of getting clothes. She would spread the cloth eagerly the minute she gets home and then covers her with it and runs to the mirror. After a short while, she would return to demand my comments. “Not bad.” I usually would say. “Of course!” she would say proudly, “I never choose the wrong thing!” Then it follows that she goes to her tailor, counts day by day waiting the due time when her dress is promised to be ready, gets the product back and after hours turning before the mirror, she would detect the smallest defects, and then go back to ask for the remedy.
At first, I never saw her buy anything for beauty purpose, except for a lipstick. Both she and I agreed that her natural youth beauty was enough. Later, however, she said she was getting old, and that she must take action. Her action was to cut a cheap, fresh and tender cucumber into pieces and then covered her face with them. That gave her a look of a monster. Now, once in a while she would bring home something “very expensive”-----never more than 100 yuan, though. Then she would bend over the sink, washing and rubbing patiently.
