In spite of the fact that I’m losing a week of work on my contract, I was happy when I got home yesterday.
That is, until hubby brought me down with the remnants of a day-long gripe session.
It started in the morning when I set up a timer for one of the lamps. He wanted to show me how much easier it is to use his timer. This was when I was rushing to get out the door to give a lift to a friend who works in the same office.
He told me later that his timer is inoperable and that he wants to junk it.
I went home for lunch so we could sign refi papers and check out the timeshare. We needed linens, and that launched another volley of complaints because he thought they were going to charge us $15 for extra bedding.
In fact, they didn’t.
Next, I got a call from him at work, flustered and upset that our contractor wanted to could come by and complete a job for us. Hubby was thrown for a loop because he expected the contractor next week.
He complained afterwards that he “didn’t have time” to clear room for the contractor to work. I asked why not since there was a full 45 minutes between the first call and the contractor’s arrival. Hubby explained that he was doing other things. Like clipping his toenails.
I also asked why he thought the contractor couldn’t make room for himself, since we told him he could move whatever he needed to and he’d fixed-priced the job. Hubby said he didn’t think that was an “appropriate” thing to ask the contractor to do.
I got another frustrated call over a confusing conversation he had with our seller about interest rates and other mortgage financing. He “doesn’t understand” these things but quite frankly, isn’t making any effort to do so.
The last call was about our oldest grandson, who bailed on a planned overnight because he “wasn’t feeling well.” This boy is a stay-at-home, and I wasn’t entirely surprised. Plus, we had a long visit with him recently that resulted in a monster fight with our son. Quite honestly, I didn’t blame the kid for wanting to keep his head down.
When I got home, I got an earfull about maintenance problems at the timeshare. Turns out, the problems were reported yesterday and taken care of immediately, so I wasn’t sure why the subject came up at all, or why it was positioned in such a negative way. As opposed to, say, “The staff is really on the ball there; we reported some minor problems and they were fixed right away.”
Hubby wanted me to see the new basement windows, which are gorgeous. They are replacements for ugly old ones that wouldn’t close properly, so we had plant tendrils and heaven only knows what other visitors from the outside. Also, unlike the old ones, the new windows have screens, so they can be opened for ventilation.
Needless to say, I am thrilled to have functional, clean, secure windows.
Hubby on the other hand complained that they are hard to open and that the configuration of items in the basement make it difficult to reach them.
He then fussed about needing to attach screws to our diverters so they wouldn’t slip off the downspouts. Guess there isn’t time between toenail clipping and reading books to take care of a 15 minute job like that.
The final straw for me was when we were in the basement talking about which major appliances might have to be replaced in the next year. He studied the almost brand new hot water heater for a few seconds and mumbled that “it isn’t secure”. I asked him what he was talking about. He evaded for a minute or two and then admitted that he was thinking about earthquakes.
Earthquakes. On Cape Cod.
At that point, I lost it. In point of fact, the purchase and installation of the hot water heater was one of my more expensive projects on the house. I took particular care to hire a plumber who’s not cheap but who has done great work for us in the past and to select a model that was not standard issue for the area but has a much better reputation. There was no good reason for anyone to criticize either the equipment or the way it was installed.
I chose to escape hubby’s volley of negativity. I begged him yesterday to stop criticizing and to stop being so negative, but he persisted, and I just couldn’t stand listening to it any more. I am exhausted trying to meet his impossible standards: the house is too small, I’m too fat, our doctor is unreasonable, our son is this, our grands are that. We are going to go broke over health expenses and car repairs, the Tea Party is ruining America and people are suffering all over the world.
When I ask him why he’s this way, he says he doesn’t know. He spends his days reading books and surfing the Web. He’s in pain much of the time but won’t use crutches, a walker, a wheelchair or even a cane. He won’t do low-impact exercises even though we have a gym, pool, jacuzzi and sauna available to us 7 days a week.
Maybe it’s because the sauna “isn’t hot enough”.
We have a comfortable income and solid credit. We own one property, are buying another and own our vehicles outright. We have friends. We have reasonably good health insurance. We live in a beautiful area not 15 minutes from our son and grandchildren. Our houses have new roofs, new siding and new windows and, thus, are about as maintenance free as one could make them. We even put in a driveway at our place this year to make snow removal easier.
I’ve sunk tens of thousands of dollars, in fact, most of my life savings, into this marriage. I put Hubby’s name on the deed to my house; it’s the first time he’s ever owned property, having spent his entire disposable income over the last 40 years on entertainment, music, jewelry and clothes. Hubby on the other hand didn’t put me on his medical insurance or elect a joint and survivor pension benefit.
I had a dream last night about an Asian woman wearing a helmet and a cycling kit. She was flirting with Hubby. I grabbed her by the arm and told her sotto voce that if she continued, I’d break her neck. Maybe that was a mistake.