29 Aug The Trials of an Introverted Wife
I’m a bit of an Introvert, I’ll admit.
So last Friday, I’m Netflixing and chilling, having recently discovered there’s actually a few things I can watch on this platform, though I’m way, way off its target audience.
I’ve found a nice, sizzling documentary and..
(It’s possible to say sizzling and documentary in the same breath, Brethren; just ask any of us introverts).
Anyway, I’ve found this doccu called “Kardashian – the Man who Saved OJ Simpson” which I can’t wait to imbibe.
The kids are at Cucu’s, Edwina is downstairs making me a hot cuppa, and hubby will be home any minute.
Aah, I espy a nice evening..
Kardashian, I learn, is the father of them that are famous for being famous, and great friends with OJ.
And on the day OJ is accused of killing his wife and her young lover, Kardashian hurriedly dashes to his home and makes off with a “suspiciously bulging” bag, the contents of which could almost certainly lead to OJ’s conviction, we are told.
Hubby comes home and after the usual wifely pledges, I’m back to Kardashian and his pal.
So unfortunately for Kardashian, a nosy investigative reporter finds a roll of film containing footage of what really happened at OJ’s home, on the day he was arrested. There it is – actual video of Kardashian surreptitiously stealing off with the now-famous bag in his hand. As any good friend might.
OJ is hauled off, handcuffed, to await his day in court. And haraka upesi, we are informed, Kardashian renews his expired Attorney license, so as to defend his good friend in court.
Aah, this evening is going great..
From there we are treated to the fascinating back-story of the unusual friendship between OJ, an African-American football superstar, and Kardashian, a White, hugely successful lawyer.
But then I’m just about to face judge and juror in court with Kardashian when..
“Babes, I feel like some ribs. Si we go get some?”
My favourite half.
For him, a spirited sanguine, a quiet evening at home is roughly equivalent to death by sheer and utter ennui. Long, slow, torture.
My nice quiet evening is about to go up in barbecue flames. At a noisy restaurant somewhere, amidst a slew of Friday-night diners.
“Eh, you want to go out?”
Then I whisper; “Dear Lord, I know this is trivial and if you say No I will put on some nice clothes and go chase after those ribs. But I’d really like to stay home. If it’s ok with you, could you please do the needful?”
And a few minutes later, my good hubby takes a shower, puts on some chill clothes and joins me in the living room.
“Ama we just order in?” he yawns. “I’m feeling a bit tired.”
Jesus loves us Introvs too, it appears.
Back to our Learned Friend .