In Defence of the Fat, Bald Man.

Dearest Sheetal,

I am sick and tired of your constant nagging about how I have let go of my appearance. How I am not the man you married. How my paunch has grown more out of proportion than the IPL controversy and how my hair has disappeared like the ozone layer.

The fact of the matter is I have done all of this out of my eternal love for you, my pet. Being fat, bald and as ugly as a mountain gorilla, are all defense mechanism’s to keep those, slim, sexy, seductive women off my back so I can remain ever faithful and in love with you, my darling.

Really sweetheart. I am what I am today only because I love you so very much. With my exploding waistline, receeding hairline and bulldog like wrinkly face, you can sleep peacefully knowing that no sane, girl with a relatively decent eyesight is going to sleep with me.

You keep complaining about how I smell so awful and that I don’t maintain any hygiene and how I never wash my armpits. But sweety you must realise that it is this very odour, that warns a woman from a good distance away, that I am a married man and I do not want anything to do with them. The fact that it tells this to my boss, colleagues, friends and relatives too is something we shall discuss later.

You say that I have the largest stomach in the world. Clearly you haven’t seen Yuvraj Singh lately. But there is a reason why my stomach is expanding like vijay mallya’s business empire. If you didn’t make such amazing food then I would probably have still looked like someone below the poverty line. But alas, your oily parathas, paneer makhanwala and irresistible butter chicken are too much to resist for a man of my sensitive taste-buds. And as you know(and repeatedly remind me) I don’t communicate very well, so I tend to show my appreciation by farting every once in a while. And you instead of thanking me call them smelly and say that they are the only cause for global warming!

And if I have grown bald then it is only because I worry so much for you. The days when you are ill and bed-ridden I worry who is going to make my food. When you are overworked I worry about how the housework will be done. When you say you have a headache, I worry if you will be in the mood to make love or not. it is all this worrying about you that has taken its toll on my brittle hairs. But in my defence, my worrying shows I care.

I have become what I have, only because of my love for you and to protect our lovely marriage. If I didn’t care at all about you then I just might have been Slim, Handsome and full of hair, just like I was before marriage!

Regards,

Your Husband.

(Reproduced Faithfully by Editor Man.)