Thursday, September 9, 2010
Arguing Over Nothing
He called me the day after I went to Disneyland. I had been waiting for his call, but I was so worried about other personal issues that I had forgotten to bring the cell phone with me into the living room. I had been so worried about so many things that I just didn’t think about it. I didn’t think! I missed his call, but I refused to be devastated. I’ll be seeing him again in less than two weeks and I had spoken to him at length the day before. I wasn’t going to die. Of course, my chest hurt and I longed to speak to him, but I was fine. Two hours later I receive a call. I was ecstatic.
I immediately began recounting the reasons why I was so upset. I can tell he was worried. His two cents quickly turned into two hundred. So I changed the conversation to the ant invasion. This time the ants infiltrated my kitchen from so many directions I didn’t know where to start attacking them. I’ve been fighting with them for months now and what was only just an ant invasion seemed to become an infestation. He began to tell me that I should call management and have them spray pesticide. I told him they wouldn’t do anything about it. He said I should call an exterminator. I said I don’t have the money for that. He said we do. I said….you get the picture.
When I told him he could take care of it when he gets home he became irate. He started telling me that if he were deployed I would need to do these things for myself. That he didn’t understand why I was waiting for him to get home to do it for me. (Why? Because I know by the time he gets home there will be nothing to do. Ant season is almost over.) He didn’t understand why I couldn’t just call management and have them take care of it. I simply didn’t think it was that big a deal. We went back and forth until he decided to tell me a story.
His Drill Sergeant said that once during a deployment he called home to his wife only to find that she had been without a washing machine for, count it, ONE WHOLE WEEK. Yeah, ONE WHOLE WEEK. The Sergeant became angry and screamed at her to PULL HER HEAD OUT OF HER ASS and either call a handyman or buy a new washing machine! I kept trying to let him know it really wasn’t that big a deal. I’ll take care of it, but I’m not calling anyone because I simply don’t have the time to deal with it. It’s not a big issue. He just became more agitated and before you knew it he was repeating the story to me over and over again emphasizing that his Sergeant told his wife to PULL HER HEAD OUT OF HER ASS AND GET IT DONE.
It wasn’t long before I became hysterical. I cried and wailed and felt so sorry for myself. Why…Why was he treating me this way? For fucking ant? Are you shitting me? He’s never been so aggressive telling me that I was starting to piss him off because I wasn’t listening. When I told him what he was saying to me, pull my head out of my ass, he said he didn’t say that. We argued about it. Semantics…they always get you don’t they? If your telling me the same story over and over and over again emphasizing a certain phrase then yeah…I call it like I see it. You’re telling me to pull my head out of my ass and take care of this ant invasion before he gets home.
I’m telling him that I will not and he will do it when he gets home. Eventually I quite literally pulled my own head out of my anal cavity and calmed down. I apologized for getting so upset. I told him I would take care of the horrible ants myself. I let him know that if he were ever deployed he wouldn’t have to worry about me. I could take care of myself. I’ve no need for a man in my life to be perfectly honest other than for what a man was intended for and that my dears is the honest truth.
This is how that part of the conversation went:
“Honey, I’m sorry to tell you this, but if you were gone I would be fine. You don’t have to worry about me okay?”
“But I do worry about you Michelle”
“But you don’t have to worry about me I can take care of myself.”
“I do worry about you Michelle”
“But Sweetheart, I’m telling you that if you were gone you don’t have to worry.”
“I’m always worried about you Michelle”
I could go on, but it was such an aggravating conversation. Thank GOD I have some sense in my head. Enough sense to realize that we weren’t arguing about ants. Enough sense to realize that my husband loves and cares for me in a way that I don’t think even he thought was possible. I understand that he wants to make sure I’m okay and that I’m sensible enough to handle things on my own, but ARE YOU FUCKING JOKING DUDE? SERIOUSLY…I’ve BEEN handling EVERYTHING ON MY OWN FOR 5 FUCKING YEARS! That’s how long we’ve been married and that’s how long I’ve supported us. That’s how long I’ve paid all the bills, fed all the cats, kept our gaming lives going.
The whole argument, the reason for arguing, the whole fucking thing was a huge joke on me. I’m being treated like “the little woman”? Seriously? By my husband Rigid Raider, gamer dude from the UK. Really? He’s giving ME the fucking lecture? ME? The woman who has lectured HIM on everything from taking out the trash to cleaning out the literboxes and vacuuming the floors. ME who’s begged and pleaded with him to take the car to the mechanic, get a spare tire fixed or screw in a fucking lightbulb?
Mistimed: 2:17 PM