The Good Wife

I am sitting in the lobby of our hotel in Venice, Italy. I have zero makeup on, wet hair up in a bun, and am wearing sweats. In an hour and a half I have to front and center for our final black tie affair of this convention.

I will bring out all my very best manners while I try to carry on intelligent conversation with people I may or may not have already met this past week.

I will try to remember whether I bow, kiss a cheek, kiss both cheeks, or just shake a hand.

I will draw on my often limited knowledge of world politics, art, and culture and try to be witty and engaged during what seems like my 1,372nd conversation in the last 5 days.

I will know which of the 5 forks to use and politely try every culinary item presented to me while discreetly checking for food stuck in my teeth.

I will sit up straight and divide my attention equally between the people sitting on either side of me.

I will listen carefully to those who speak a different language - trying my best to communicate - waving away apologies for broken English.

I will share about our current living situation without complaint, providing answers for the many questions regarding life in Singapore.

I will glance lovingly at my husband and lay a hand on his shoulder as a sign of solidarity.

I will pay compliments to ladies and tell men how handsome they look.

I will sample my dessert, but avoid the temptation to devour it all.

I will dance with my husband.

I will be a Good Wife.