She is the talk of the society I live in. Among men for she is beautiful, very beautiful and I am not that handsome (Ok I am lying. I'm african and kind of white but not handsome!), and among wives of these men, for they can never be like her. In case you are still wondering who she is, she is my wife. Everyone has a good glance on her, especially on Sundays when the garbage collector boy does not report to work. And being a cleanliness freak she goes downstairs to the common dustbin to throw garbage. It hurts or rather burns my heart when most of these so called working men (I wonder if they work at all!) also come downstairs to throw garbage exactly at the same time when she does. And what is worse is that they empty that small bin in the maximum possible time. And most often than not, I think I am the most cursed creature in my society, by men for being my wife's husband and by women for not being responsible enough to come downstairs myself and throw garbage. And one fine morning, I gave the women a reason to bless me a little. I took the garbage bin and went downstairs humming a track from a yesteryear's movie. I came down hoping to catch the usual crowd of men around the dustbin. Much to my dismay, there was not a single soul to be found, except for me and that pariah dog, which I did not notice. I looked up and around, hoping to catch some window open and some eyes pop and peep. But alas! None! Little did I know what fate had in store for me! As I was emptying the dustbin and cursing myself, a rag picker threw a stone on that dog which was eating something. It hit the dog badly. I scolded the boy and he ran away. It created mayhem and the dog took me to be the culprit. It started barking badly and showing its teeth to me. I began retracting my path as it grew more violent. Hardly had I run a few meters when he jumped at me and caught hold, first of my costly night dress and then the costlier legs. And as I screamed, it ran away. My cries rented the air. My wife came running down and with her, followed the army of her garbage men and with them came the wives of these men. I was hauled up and taken to the medical room, on my wife's request. She was inconsolable as if I was about to die of pain, which undoubtedly was too much to bear. And her army of men was consoling her more than me. My pain increased. It hurt more. It took me a fortnight to get back on my legs. And each day that I spent in confinement, I cursed those men, the common dustbin, the dog and myself. And each day it reminded, it's hard for me to maintain, the beauty of my wife.