It’s still possible to hear men of a certain age and disposition glibly refer to their wives as “the boss”. Whether this is valid for individual relationships I can’t say, for each couple has their own dynamic. But for me it’s true, on weekends, when I become my wife’s employee.
Twenty-two years ago my wife began selling her glass bead jewellery at outdoor craft markets, and for 20 years I’ve been her grunt. My roles includes stowage, navigation, transport, setup, display, IT (chimp-level) and catering. My most crucial task is to serve her bottomless cups of hot tea.
That’s because my wife is not a morning person and we rise for markets between 4am and 5am. Then I drive for up to two hours, we spend another two hours setting up, sell for five or six, take 90 minutes packing up and voyage home. A big day out, and often repeated the next day. The money can be good but it’s never easy. There’s a lot of lugging involved. Glass is heavy and my wife has lots.
After unpacking and displaying as many examples of my wife’s creative output as will cram into our car, I sometimes query her kitchen-sink approach. Earrings tend to tangle and snare in my clumsy digits, the wind meddles and we try not to get in each other’s way. My boss claims that dawn sorting is good for the brain. Although I think more sleep would be too, my attitude to following my wife’s muse has improved. Early on I failed to appreciate how important jewellery is to many women; then, in 2021, archaeologists in Morocco found shell beads made 150,000 years ago, and I now accept adornment as a primal human trait and that ears were made for earrings.
I admit to being a poor apprentice. Working from home for a decade meant a leap from hermit to salesman and I still receive regular performance reviews and occasional warnings: for my dreadful packaging, distraction, clunker dropping and barista skills. One management directive I continue to fail (usually whispered through gritted teeth) is “don’t frighten the children!” (Even those tots whose parents smile adoringly as their darlings creatively adjust our display.)
I’ve heard much younger people describe outdoor markets as “brutal” and, for couples, a test for even the toughest kind of love. The scene is often compared to a travelling carnival and not only for the bumping in and out. Marriage itself is a balancing act needing delicate, regular ego adjustments. Some men still can’t handle having a wife with a business – especially when the traditional marital act is flipped and she becomes the major breadwinner, requiring the husband to support her from below.
My wife and I have had our moments on that tightrope. If we do disagree on how to run her business – the optimum method of pitching her marquee awning, levelling tables or mounting a wind break – I’ll be promptly reminded who’s boss. It helps to apply what I’ve learned from other bosses: for instance, that bossing a boss is never wise as performance reviews only apply in one direction.
Though not a horrible boss, my wife is fastidious, determined and demanding – laudable attributes for any successful enterprise. Business and marriage each essentially involve participating in a kind of courteous tyranny, where each party agrees to forgo personal freedom in return for something. In business, this is income; in marriage, the sharing of necessary labour, the tranquil joy of companionship, enduring and exulting together on the rollercoaster ride of life.
Any man who eschews the employment/marriage contract always has the option of free agency but then may end up reclining in a hammock under palm trees somewhere, with nothing but a bottle and the sunset for company. For those remaining, there is of course the delicate matter of pay. Another market husband once queried my compensation as my wife’s sales assistant. “Why of course I get paid,” I replied. “The same award rate as you: I get three hots and a cot.”
So hey, it’s a living. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. But I am looking forward to that future board meeting when I negotiate a retirement plan. Only after we’ve sold another few tons of my wife’s creations, of course.
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