Tuesday, March 20, 2012


Today I asked my wife to go to the bank and open an account. We already have an account together at another bank, but I'm terribly disorganised and live in fear of the day my wife goes to the shop to buy cheese and discovers I've squandered all our money on duff electronic goods. Or the other way round.

It seemed to make sense, therefore, to get a few more bank accounts for fripperies, and reserve the joint account for important things we can't avoid spending money on, like rent. And duff electronic goods.

However, we forgot that according to Singapore, my wife is not an actual person. She's got a dependent pass, which means in the eyes of bank staff, she's possibly slightly more autonomous than my sofa, and with less rights. Because she's got a dependent pass, her name isn't on the tenancy agreement, or our utility bills, or the phone contract. She is merely one of my many appendages.

Thus after an hour of sitting around and waiting, she left the bank empty handed, or rather with hands full of the cash she couldn't deposit there. It gave me a warm paternal feeling to think how important I was - ah, no. It just felt a bit annoying, as if I'd married somebody who I couldn't trust to make any decisions.

On the positive side, I should be able to lord it over her now by pointing out that I'm more officially more trustworthy than she is (ironic, as I'm British, whereas she's Canadian, and they're as honest as the day is long). Or I could just annoy her by taking all the money out of the joint account and spending it on biscuits.

I'm reading The Night Watch, by Sarah Waters. Unlike Day Watch, there are no vampires, Russians, or gun battles. Still, can't have it all, can you?


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