The Homely Girl

She was every man's dream wife material. Tall, pretty, educated and extremely traditional and homely.

The Indian in him, an NRI, approached her for matrimonial alliance. He had lived the western life for many years now, and he enjoyed the unsupervised routine now, the party, the booze, and the women.

But his million girlfriends couldn't be his wife, a wife had to be coy, cultured, all in all, a good girl who could cook, clean and demand nothing in return.

They got married, him and her. They moved to the US and she exercised her much-awaited freedom.

She found herself a job, dressed trendy, cooked when it suited her, partied to her heart's content.

"What's wrong with you? You aren't the woman I married. You are Indian, be an Indian wife. I didn't bring you here for this." He complained.

"Oh really?" She smiled in sarcasm. "You upset that I'm not homely enough? Being homely means being a servant, is it?" She pouted.

"Sorry husband. It doesn't work that way. I like western clothes, I find nothing wrong with parties, I prefer financial independence. There's nothing Indian or Western about it, it's just that I'm nursing my alter ego." She winked.