Don’t we all wish we were somebody else? Aren’t you, this very minute, wishing you were married to the man in the next compound instead of this unfaithful ingrate you call your husband? Aren’t you wishing your wife were as successful or sexy as Tina, the woman next door? How many times have you asked yourself why you ended up with this woman who thinks the height of fashion is lace and a big headgear when every woman is fighting old age with every weapon in their fashion arsenal?

Why can’t she lose some weight?
Why can’t she make some money of her own instead of asking me for everything?
Why is he such an NFA –No Future Ambition- when everybody is buying new cars and houses?
Why is he such a bore?
A woman whose husband is a socialite wants a homely one who can help her fix a new bulb and help the kids with their homework. The one with a domesticated husband is wishing for a man who is outgoing, an exciting go-getter. The woman married to a man who is contented with two cars and a bungalow is wondering why they can’t have homes abroad and in Abuja plus a few SUVs. The wife of a teacher wishes she were married to a governor.

Wishing we were somebody else is a trait, a gene that we all share. And nobody is innocent of this offence, except pretenders. So, don’t bother sending me a text on this angle. Or don’t small pastors wish they were Pastor Adeboye, Matthew Ashimolowo or Bishop Oyedepo? You can imagine what small believers like me are wishing for. For instance I wish I could convince ‘somebody’ to let us try one more time for a set of twins. Yeah, why is it that other women can have twins and I can’t? I wish I can go through pregnancy without being confined to bed because my babies were always too anxious to ‘get out.’ And when the hours on this job gets too much I sometimes envy the alhaja in the next compound. She is a full-time housewife. I’m sure she also wishes she were in my shoes, blissfully ignorant of the fact that those shoes pinch most of the time.

I know you know what I’m talking about, but wishing we were in another man’s shoes is such a huge topic we can’t deal with in one edition.
Now let’s be honest, is there a woman who does not wish her husband were wealthier and more successful than he is? Don’t we envy wives of the rich who globe-trot and drive choice automobiles? Oh we do, please. Let’s come clean for once.
If only we know what the wives of the rich have to contend with, their private pains and the demons they battle behind closed doors… Check out these experiences.

Ifeoma’s husband is the typical wealthy businessman. Everybody in the estate envies her. She drives all the cars of my dream including the new BMW-X6. She takes the one they call ‘Respect’ to do her shopping. And what she wears is out of this world. Her two daughters are so beautiful and even more beautifully dressed even in the house. Ify’s major exercise I later learnt , when we got talking, is the one she gets at the gym. And all the attention she gets is the one her toddlers can give.

“My loneliness is like labour pains, you can’t describe it to the next person. To everybody, I’m living their dreams but I’m the one wearing the shoes and I know I would exchange them for a pair of poor ones. Do you know what it is like to see your husband once in a month? Emeka does not know his children’s school. He simply thinks providing money for all we need is what makes him a husband. I have four maids, a gardener and two drivers. I can travel anytime anywhere but I’m so lonely. You can’t imagine what it is like to have your daughter start vomiting and running temperature in the night and there is no man to reassure you, comfort you that everything would be all right. I suffer terrible menstrual pains and all I get to hug is my hot water bottle. An absent husband is like a curse, a very private pain.”

Ifeoma’s biggest headache is her desperation to have a son, a feat she needs her husband’s presence in her bed to perform. But Emeka spends more time in Singapore, Dubai and Belgium than in his matrimonial bed. His place of primary assignment is offshore, his heart is on the high seas and his conjugal duties have been postponed until further notice.
So when next you cuddle up to your man on a rainy night, remember the likes of Ify who have only their pillows. When next you get angry with your husband for correcting you once too often, think of Ify who has to take all the decisions all alone. The rich wives sometimes wish they could exchange their SUVs for a little time in the arms of their husbands.

It is worse for the wife of a politician. Even when her husband is in the house, she has to share him with party faithfuls who daily throng the house to pay homage, do ‘eye service’, and empty his pockets. She has to smile at people she’d rather shoot. They not only take away her man, they eat her out of her own kitchen. The cooks are always busy. No private moments. The ‘party’ starts so early and ends so late. By the time her husband slumps into bed, he can’t get it up. So she waits to catch him in the wee hours but a midnight call from ‘His Excellency’ keeps him on the phone till four in the morning. Looking at him snoring away at six, she does not have the heart to wake him. He finally stirs at 7.30. She quickly runs his bath with a ‘quickie’ on her mind. He warms up and two minutes into a good thing, the phone rings. It’s the Senate President. She tries to continue from where they stopped and he tries too, but then the doorbell rings. The local government chairmen are in the waiting room. The women leader is just driving through the gates.

‘That is why I travel out to be with the children most of the time.’ A popular politician’s wife once told me. ‘The stress of having a man and not having him is killing. There are days he takes his political stress out on me. He just flares up over nothing or starts complaining about everything.
‘ Sometimes we don’t make love for a whole month and he sleeps at home every night. Then you have to worry about all those women throwing themselves at him at every turn. The night meetings when you worry about his safety and fall asleep on the couch waiting for him are countless. When I get to the point when I’m likely to be rude to his crowd or embark on a nagging spree, I simply dust my passport and go to where my kids will make me feel like a human being. It is worse when you are married to a upwardly mobile politician, liked and envied by many, you must be in control of your emotions and if your husband does not talk much, you must swallow your pain and listen whenever he opens up. It’s quite tough.’

Marriage to successful men has its pain. Driving AudiA6 and sleeping on water bed does not reduce a woman’s need for the occasional surprise peck. She still wants to be touched. She wants to make love in the morning before he leaves for work. She wants to curl up with him on Saturday mornings. She wants to put her head on his laps. Are the successful husbands reading this? No amount of money can take the place of a man’s warm chest.