Funny love stories: Virtuous
My husband said, “I looked at the criteria for choosing a wife on Literary City. Except for being ‘virtuous,’ you basically meet all the standards. ‘Virtuous’ is quite important; the revolution is not yet successful, comrades still need to work hard.”
At first, I laughed foolishly for half a day, feeling as if I were only a step away from becoming a top athlete. After laughing for three minutes, I suddenly came to my senses and slammed the table: “I’m not virtuous enough? And what makes you so deserving? If I were perfect, why would I choose a crooked and rotten melon like you?”
My husband sighed, and as he turned to leave, he threw out a sentence: “This is what it means to be not virtuous.”
Although I seemed fierce, I had an uncontrollable impulse to strive for perfection within. “Virtuous” is an abstract adjective, and I couldn’t learn its essence in a short time, so I decided to start by imitating its appearance.
Starting at nine in the evening, I began my preliminary preparations for being ‘virtuous.’ First, I applied a green clay mask, then hydrated my skin, brushed my teeth, and took a shower, making myself smell nice before lying in bed to wait for my husband to inspect.
My husband came into the room and said, “Not bad. Today I didn’t see you sitting cross-legged on the bed typing; you changed your posture and are lying down to surf the internet.”
I said, “I’m being virtuous; I made myself clean and fragrant, lying here nicely.”
He said, “Lying here nicely counts only if you’re in the nude. Why are you covered from head to toe, even with your socks on?”
I blushed and didn’t dare tell him that my body wasn’t good enough to have the courage to be in the nude.
I wanted to look good while being virtuous, so I needed to start with the fundamentals. In the afternoon, I spent a lot of money on a set of Huìlán Yoga, but after less than 20 minutes, I was lying on the floor with my tongue out.
Yoga isn’t designed for overweight people. There was one move where the left leg presses on the right leg, and the hand reaches through to grasp the other hand. When I finally managed to press my left leg on my right, there was no space for my hand to go through, so I gave up on that. Later, I gave up on many moves because I couldn’t do this one or reach that one.
Being virtuous was hard to achieve, so I gave up.
On New Year’s Eve, my husband invited a group of friends to our house for dinner. From early morning, I led the maids in busy preparations. By the time dinner started, we had prepared more than ten dishes, a soup, a dessert, and a fruit platter.
Everyone ate until their stomachs were turned over. My husband drank too much again, stumbling several times on the way home, unable to keep his balance, falling onto me. After we got home, he kept complaining about his body burning and his heart burning. I suddenly had an inexplicable worry that he might have a sudden heart attack or stroke tonight.
Before he reached the bathroom, he vomited everywhere, with residue mixed with the unpleasant smell of alcohol. I gave him mouthwash to rinse his mouth, a small stool to sit on by the toilet, and a hot towel to wipe his face. While he was vomiting again, I quickly made some tea and came back to massage his back.
He said, “I want to take a bath.”
I went to get underwear and passed by him when he grabbed me and said, “Strange, why are you so virtuous today?”
“Don’t I always serve you closely when you’re vomiting and having diarrhea?”
He said, “You used to serve closely but never stopped talking.” Then, mimicking my tone, he said, “You eat and drink like there’s no tomorrow, puke to death! It’s like you’ve never seen alcohol before! Was alcohol your mistress in a past life?”
I used to wonder: I take care of him when he’s sick, I nurse our child, and I provide quality intimate services—didn’t I do everything I was supposed to? Why wasn’t I considered virtuous? It turned out the problem was my mouth.
After he finished his bath, he lay beside me, still wet, and said, “Changed shampoo today? Smells nice.”
I sniffed and then tapped his head: “You used my body wash to wash your hair?” He laughed and said, “No wonder I felt a warm scent while washing—it was the smell of my wife.” Then he tilted his head and fell asleep.
I finally became virtuous after having a son.
Previously, he was just my husband, but now he is my family. I can change a husband, but how can a child not have a father? So I need to treat him well, to make him happy and to live longer, so we can grow old together.
Thank you for reading! ” Sitestorys “
