Hellooooo. My name is Jozi and I am a soon-to-be W.O.G. Not to be confused with WAG. Because I’m no chardonnay drinking, boutique shopping kugel with a luxurious lifestyle, courtesy of her footballer hubby & his six figure weekly salary. Nope, for me, W.O.G stands for Wife of Gamer, and after seven years of dating and just three months before we make things official, I’ve pretty much accepted my lot in life.
|Gamer night. Run for the hills!
It hits me frequently when the other half and I are attempting to engage in serious discussion. Or at least I am engaged in said discussion. The only thing hubby-to-be is engaged in is a battle to the death, courtesy of X-box and whatever big gaming mission he happens to be on at that precise moment.
In these moments I feel almost like the teacher in Charlie Brown. You know, the one who makes that odd, comical sound instead of talking, something along the lines of “Kwah kwah woh wah wah”. Because I might as well be saying that. When my boy is gaming, he moves entirely into what we’ve come to term “non-responsive mode.” Nothing penetrates that steely exterior. I ask a question, and it’s answered 20 minutes later when the moment has entirely passed and he is able to finally retrieve it from the non-gaming section of his brain. I could stand in front of him stark naked and bouncing on my head. He would merely crane his neck around me to see the TV screen so he can re-enter his other world, his happy place.
|The Kinect phase.
It’s taken a while but I’ve learnt not to become too upset too quickly when my boy’s full attention is not fixed on me and what I am saying to him. (Unless this relates to our burning house or a gang of intruders about to have their wicked way with us. Because then bro man, you need to snap outta the virtual and get back into reality – and fast).
I have learnt to be more considerate and patient in my treatment of my Goofy Gamer – because one doesn’t need an incessantly nagging female when one is fighting major wars to save humankind, or co-opping with the hopes and dreams of your team on your shoulders, or bashing the brains out of some opponent or other.
I also try not to get too alarmed by the other half’s sudden outbursts of “Behind you! Look behind you!” or “Grab the gun!” or whatever other instruction or obscenity he happens to be screaming at the voices in his head. (No, he is not a violent schizophrenic. The voices usually belong to the online gamer friends speaking through his headphones.)
And I am past the point of waking up startled and in a cold sweat when I hear him shout out things about spaceships and weapons and war zones in his sleep.
So I have accepted that I am only his second love. I might adore him, cook for him, clean for him and generally be his rock and his unshakable support, but when he’s had a hard day at work, or is tired, happy, sad, feeling invincible or whatever, I know in my heart of hearts that he’d probably choose that cold, plastic gaming control over my warm, loving hands any day.
And I’m totally cool with that. For now.