The husband was leaving for work this morning, and for the third time this month, asked me for an umbrella. When I asked him where the other two umbrellas that I had lent him were, he promptly replied, "Well, I lent one to a colleague at work, and I think one should be in the car. "

"In that case, you should run to the car and check if it's still there, " I said, peeved.

"Don't be mean babe, I don't want to ruin my new white shirt, " he pleaded.

"Okay, let me give you the most battered one I can find, and then I am closed for business as far as umbrellas go this season. "

"Gosh you were never this rude before we got married, " he said.
He is probably right. Maybe I am so married, I can be rude to my partner. I finally have the freedom to say what I feel and get away with it. I can celebrate being me. The me whose default setting is 'rude'.

I actually feel for those still in the dating game, in a relationship, or on the verge of one. There is too much of being polite, letting the other person have their point of view, their thing on the menu, their choice of temperature for air-conditioning, their choice of which place to go to, or who to make brunch plans with. When the husband and I were dating, it was always about, "Honey, would you like to do (insert activity that gives you a rash here)? " And you are like, "Sure, when would you like to go?" Turns out, you end up doing a lot of what you don't really want to do, because after all, you are in it for the long haul (or at least, that's a good way to go about it). So there is all this pressure of being good, putting yourself in the other person's shoes, being sensitive (I still don't know which one is worse).

We also had a cute airconditioner thing going in the first few weeks of dating that ceased being cute when I realised that he slept optimally at 18 degrees. I hated air-conditioning, and could, at a pinch, bear it at 24 degrees. But we played keeping count just to humour the other.

Honey, is 20 okay for you? Ummm, may be 23? How about 22? Okay, done!

Post marriage, there's freedom. Freedom to say no. Freedom to veto. Freedom to express your views about their life, their friends, their idea of a good time. Freedom to give a rat's ass. So here's how our aircon tussle plays out after marriage:
He: "I'm sweltering here, I need the AC tonight!" Me: "Sweltering? It's pouring cats and dogs outside. I am freezing!" He: "Well you can wear a jacket!" Me: "So? You can shed some clothes!"

Marriage was designed to be liberating. Eat what the hell you want, be as bad as you want, say what you want and never say what you don't want, and all will still be well. I figured we have our whole life to make up, and neither of us is going anywhere. A child gives you additional room to be rude. Any obnoxious trait can be attributed to the spouse, and the good stuff can be gloated over as coming from your gene pool.

As for socialite evenings, things have eased out there too. He: "Honey, there's this wild party on Friday. " Me: "No I am not going to a party where you have to come dressed as a monkey, get your own booze, your own food and your own toilet seat. " He: "Ummm okay. "

Now isn't that actually liberating, rather than dragging yourself to said party, hanging around with bimbettes and himbettes who are too busy getting wasted, and expecting you to drop them to addresses they are not sure of themselves ? Or being told "OMG! you are the best married couple evaahhh, because you are so cool, and you party even after you've had a baby. . blah blah blah. . "

Our marriage reminds me of a scene from Rules of Engagement (a popular soap about two couples-one married and one living-in and a singleton), in which Jeff tells Audrey: "You can't be mad at anyone in the world except for me. There's no risk in yelling at me, because, legally, I have to love you. "
I love being married.