Every morning after his morning market run, Daddy goes to his support group.
The attendees are a group of middle-aged men; some business owners while others are managing directors of a public listed company or another.
These men have made it in life, they have all the 5 C’s – cash, car, condo, credit cards and club membership. And yet, every Sunday they come to this support group.
The meeting takes place around a kopitiam table. The preferred dress code is ratty t-shirt and shorts. And over plates of wan tan mee and bowls of pork noodles, each man would share their struggles:
“I have to cook dinner every night. My wife does nothing!” said one.
“You think you got it bad. I have to cook dinner and do the dishes every night. My wife does nothing!” cries another.
“You two are lucky. I have to do myself every night. My wife does nothing!” the third laments.
It becomes a pissing contest of sorts: a comparison of who amongst them have got it worst.
At 10am sharp, all the attendees’ handphones would ring simultaneously.
“Yes dear. I am on the way back now.”
“No darling. That is not the coffee shop that you are hearing in the background.”
“Yes, of course I remembered to buy your breakfast.”
“I love you too.”
The support group call themselves, ‘The Battered Husbands Anonymous’.
I think they are just husbands who really love their wives.