"Matching madness" is an old disease. Experts opine that it is gender specific and affects only the fair sex; so I, on the other side of the biological fence, thought I was immune until my wife got infected last month during the wedding of my brother-in-law and to me were passed on the consequences.
My wife was excited on the day, for which her entire family waited long. To the ceremony, she wore her costliest and gaudiest sari with matching jewellery, wrist watch and pencil heel. She resembled a doll from heaven, all elements in place but one: she did not wear a cardigan for the cold night.
As I pointed it out, she shooed me away, saying what a fashion disaster it would be to show just the accessories and hide the beautiful matching outfit. I tried to warn her of the icy wind but she wouldn't care. Like an obedient husband, I dropped the issue.
I noticed, later, that every woman at the party was competing for the best-dressed prize. I overheard a few friends of my wife showering adulations on her. Hailed as "the connoisseur of matching dress", she was puffed up with pride.
The next day was a horrible one for me. She caught cold and influenza. The doctor prescribed her a long list of medicines along with the usual advice to observe rest for a week. Since even after a week, her condition did not improve, the doctor prescribed her new tablets.
Asked why, he said the medicine should match the disorder.
The new "matching" regimen of medicine, too, failed to cure my wife. Upset, I consulted another physician. The doctor took the blood sample of my wife and put it under the microscope. Her low cell count was found to be the culprit. Finally, blood transfusion was done.
My mother-in-law scolded my wife for putting her life at risk for the sake of "matching". "Don't blame matching," said my better half, "Imagine, had my blood group not matched with the donor's, would I have been alive? Everything must match."