She made no attempt at looking at me. It was the first time Amy said such words. I was perplexed, taken back just like my feet. What woman does not just feel like cooking? Amy does not cook every day because she makes meals in large quantities and freezes them. Despite that, she still had dinner ready even though it was nothing elaborate.
                          
"Is something wrong?" She shook her head. "So, there is no pounded yam?" My eyes wavered from her to the kitchen then back to her.
                          
She bursted out into a long laughter that elicited tears from her eyes. That reaction intensified my confusion. Did I say something funny? Why is she laughing? 
                          
"Subhanallah, Yusuf." A finger smothered the tears at the brim of her eyes. "Don't tell me you were expecting me to pound yam for you like I did last time? I had to even borrow mortar and pestle from our neighbour." Her smile disappeared and was replaced with a hard and unforgiving stare. The change in reaction was so swift that my next words were stopped somewhere in my throat. 
                          
"How did you help last time? Aside from the sorries, thank yous and weldones you said, what else did you do to help me? You are so insensitive Yusuf that you did not have pity on me and you sat your lazy ass in the living room watching football." Malice, as deadly as a poison, dripped from her voice. Fire kindled the cinders of black vibrant against the white eyeball.
                          
"I was tired, Amy. I went to work and came back."
                          
"And I sat at home all day, doing nothing." Was her sarcastic comeback. I tried to speak but was lost of words. "I went to work too, Yusuf!" Her voice grew louder. "I was tried too. I had also faced Lagos' traffic! Yet, I came home, cooked and took care of the house. I blame myself for accepting to do that pounding in the first place all in the name of peace and love. Had I refused, I am sure you would not have suggested such thing."
                          
The realisation of my foolishness caused me to look away from her. Guilt rose within me. "I am sorry, Amy. I had no idea you felt that way."
                          
She kissed her teeth. "You should have come back from work to do the pounding yourself. It would have been nice. Then you would have known how it feels like. Nonsense!" My wife rose to her feet, took her phone and headed for the room. "Pounded yam?" She mused, hissed and laughed. "Very thoughtless man. There is poundo yam in the cupboard. You can turn that one on fire. Or you don't know how to make it?" Her mockery nipped and hurt like a bee had stung me.
                          
Damn! My ego was bruised. Anger chased away the hunger I felt. Amy just used my inability to cook against me, to starve me. I grinded my teeth. That night, I slept in a different room. When I woke up the following morning, there was no food on the table except a note that said she has a meeting by eight and had to leave early. 
                          
But she could have arranged breakfast for me. My stomach growled. I went into kitchen, boiled rice and warmed the frozen stew in the microwave. It was the first time I cooked in years. The rice came out soggy but I ate it because I was hungry and did not want to waste food.
                          
Another issue we had was laundry. That evening, I had an outing with my friends. My plan was something casual, maybe a jeans and shirt. The wardrobe was empty of my shirts. I searched for them and they were nowhere to be seen. Who else could I ask but my wife? She ambled into the room at the right moment.
                          
"Amy, I can't find any of my shirts." I asked as I checked her side of the wardrobe.
                          
"Don't tell me you did not notice that I have not washed your clothes in two weeks?" She answered in a casual tone
                          
"Two weeks?" I swirled away from the wardrobe, horror all over my face. "Why?"
                          
She threw her head high, chin stuck in the air as she ambled to the bed where she sat and crossed her leg. "Do I need to tell you?" The bag of plantain chips she held in hand, rumpled and made an annoying noise as she ripped it open. "I am tired. Tired of doing our laundry."