In Bed with Jocasta (5 page)

F
orget the Federal Government’s talk of free ‘marriage training’; we need a new marriage contract — one which confronts the real compromises of married life. Before you marry, simply take this list to your proposed bloke, and see how many clauses he’ll sign up for.

If he ticks less than twenty items — well, frankly, I wouldn’t bother.

I agree to flirt only with women of a similar body shape to that of my partner, and certainly never with anyone thinner.

I agree to marvel when my partner has a whole dinner-table full of people laughing at one of her stories, even though I may have heard it once or twice before.

I agree not to call our child any unusual or modish names.

I agree not to cough, sneeze, breathe or otherwise suggest my own existence, during the broadcast of the medical drama E.R.

I agree never to drive around on a sixteenth of a tank of petrol, as I know this causes my partner anxiety.

We will agree to disagree on the subject of my schoolmate Tony, but I will personally pay for any damage to fixtures and fittings consequent to his visits.

I agree never, under any circumstances, to use the word ‘hysterical’.

I agree to listen, without comment, to her favourite wailing singer-songwriters.

I agree not to give constant map directions when my partner is driving, acknowledging that, when I’m not present, she somehow manages to get around.

I agree not to correct her when she sings the wrong words of songs.

I agree never to mention the concept of pre-menstrual tension during or following arguments, whatever my suspicions of its role in the present hostilities.

I agree to refrain from constantly pulling her back from street corners in the belief she was about to step in front of a passing car, acknowledging that, when I’m not present, she manages to stay alive.

I agree, while being her partner in the card game Five Hundred, never to employ the phrase ‘What sort of idiot bids eight hearts without the right bower?’ even when it’s true.