DIARY OF A CERTAIN STORIES

MY PSYCHOHOLIC WIFE

I never thought I'd find myself living with someone who could easily qualify for a reality TV show, but here I am, sharing my life with Grasya, my psychoholic wife. I mean, when I said "I do," I had no idea I was signing up for a daily comedy routine mixed with a touch of horror!

Every morning starts the same way. I groggily shuffle into the kitchen, and there's Grasya, standing over the stove, wielding a spatula like it's a sword. 

"Good morning, my love!" 

she chirps, as if she hasn't just binge-watched an entire season of a crime documentary the night before. I can't help but wonder if this is what they mean by

 "a killer breakfast."

One time, I was late for work because she decided to conduct a full-scale

 "operation find the missing sock."

 The woman has the investigative skills of a detective—if that detective was also part magician. One minute, she was asking me if I had seen my left sock, and the next, she was in the living room, digging through the couch cushions like she was searching for lost treasure.

 "I found it!"

 she exclaimed, holding up a half-eaten chocolate bar instead. "Not the sock, but I'll take it!"

It gets better. One day, I came home to find the house completely silent. Too silent. My heart raced as I tiptoed inside, expecting to find her plotting something sinister. And there she was, in the living room, standing perfectly still, staring at the wall.

 "Grasya?" I called out cautiously. She slowly turned her head to me, eyes wide, and whispered, "I'm trying to communicate with the ghosts of our furniture." At that moment, I was convinced my wife had become the world's first furniture medium.

And let's not even talk about her cooking. One evening, she decided to try her hand at a new recipe, something she found on the internet called "Mystery Meat Surprise." I knew I was in trouble when she pulled out an ingredient list that included things like "one cup of existential dread" and "a pinch of chaos." As we sat down to eat, I asked,

 "What's in this?" 

She grinned maniacally and replied,

 "Surprise!" 

After one bite, I realized the only thing surprising was that I was still alive. I swore my taste buds filed for divorce that night.

Then there was the incident with the neighborhood cat. Grasya has a special connection with animals—like a Disney princess, but instead of singing, she talks to them like they owe her money. One afternoon, she decided to adopt the stray cat that had been haunting our yard. 

"I'm naming him Mr. Whiskers," 

she declared.

 "He's going to be my partner in crime!" I watched in horror as she dressed the cat in a tiny cape and announced,

 "You shall be my sidekick in world domination!" All I could think was, "Great, now I have to deal with a supervillain cat."

But the real kicker came during our last vacation. We went to the beach, and Grasya, being the adventurous soul she is, decided to build the biggest sandcastle the world had ever seen. As she sculpted, she shouted, "This will be our fortress!" I, being the supportive husband, pretended to be a knight defending her honor.  

However, when she added a moat filled with "shark-infested water" (a.k.a. the ocean), she got a little too into character. She grabbed a plastic shovel and began yelling at passing children, "Stay away from my kingdom, you tiny invaders!" I was both mortified and proud; who knew I was married to a sand monarch?

At the end of each day, as I lay in bed next to my psychoholic wife, I can't help but smile. Life with Grasya is like living in a sitcom—filled with laughter, absurdity, and a touch of madness. She might be a little psycho, but she's my psycho, and I wouldn't trade her for the world. After all, who else would make my mundane life feel like a never-ending comedy show?  IT'S ME!