Readers' Submissions

Delightful SE Asian Wife In Europe – The Wife Life

  • Written by Anonymous
  • December 26th, 2006
  • 4 min read

By Hans Meier

As usual, we wake up minutes before the alarm rings. In the fog of half-consciousness, she presses herself against me. We don't speak, but we hold on to each other with every single pore that's within reach. More coverage is not.

"I want to crawl inside you", she whispers with closed eyes.

"You crawl into me", I ask? "Maybe you mix something here?"

"No, I want to crawl inside you! Then you can never divorce. Ha."

"Oh, no problem", I counter. "I could just have an operation to cut you out?" She just learnt "operation" in my language. I also turn off the alarm clock.

"No, this would be too much pain for you." "Pain" is another new word from the "hospital" chapter in her language book.

"I could have narcosis, no?" Also "narcosis" appeared in her school book.

"You wouldn't", she yawns and finds still one more pore to squeeze against me.


On the terrace, I soon observe a growing string of pots for chili, allium, lemongrass, Thai and Italian basil and other exotic plants. She found them in several markets, and the chili is propagated further by offsets.

Actually, there are internet stores that sell ten different kinds of chili plants. Nahlee can't read the information, but she always points to the pictures of those spices that get 10 of 10 points on the vendor's spicy scale. She
clearly knows which little red ones give the most bang for the buck.

Together with the flowers we have anyway, she loves her potted friends dearly. Watering her flowers and spice plants after school seems her preferred means of unwinding.


In the basement, in a dark corner around the washing machine, she discovers something I have already forgotten for a few years: a filthy woollen pullover. Once it had been nice. Then I gave it a Hans Meier expert wash, and it shrunk down
to 30 percent of its original size. I left it to rot in the basement.

But now the thing has just her size. “What is this, dear”, she inquires? “Why is it so old and rotten?”

She washes it carefully with her hand, not before I have finally researched some scientific info about how to wash woollen things. After that, the pullover looks quite decent again.

Two days later, Ning appears for breakfast in a woollen pullover that looks like it's not at all too old. Actually, it is the first time I see my bronze black-haired hot country lady in a woollen outfit – and it suits her well! I had
believed that winter clothing might look stupid on her, but not so: She looks just great.

“You know what”, I ask her? “Woollen pullovers still have a bit of lanolin to them, that’s the wool fat from the sheep.”

She looks worried.

“No”, I say, “that’s good: The lanolin keeps off smells and dirt. The woollen pullover will feel fresh for much longer than cotton.”

“Oh, really”, she says? “That’s interesting.”

She ponders for a while. Then she says:

“I like that lanolin thing. So I can wear the pullover all winter, and wash it in summer.”


She is my favorite bank clerk here in my Farangland small town. She has this witty smile, this ease in her actions that really attracts me. No tapir either. Occasionally she sent me faxes or e-mails from the bank that sounded just a tad more
private than you would expect from your bank clerk. Or was it merely her personal style? Did I fancy too much? I have no idea if she is single or not, you know. And we never exchanged any private word – for years I had had no idea how to invite
her out when talking in a small town bank hall.

Now Nahlee and I stand at the counter. Who approaches to serve us? SHE, my favorite bank clerk! Can it be that, seeing us, she looks a bit more sceptical, is not completely her humorous entertaining self?

"We would like to create a bank account for my wife", I say. Can it be that, hearing me, she looks one more bit sceptical?

A lot of paper work ensues. Then a question of hers comes back. Is her witty smile on the return or not? Is it just her personal style or actual irony:

"Do you want a mandate over her account," she asks? This I confirm.

And then one more question. Don't ask me if her smile is just friendly or ironic:

"And do you want to give your wife a mandate over *your* existing account?"

Stickman's thoughts:

I love that last question.