Festivus Continues! (aka My Bitch List, Part 7)

What’s on the list today? How about Jean-Gate, Laundry-Gate, all the different little ways I took care of that big whiny man-child, the A-1 steak sauce faux pas, the time I *gasp* defied his wishes, and what my mother labeled, “the cruelest comment ever”. That’s actually the first thing on the list.

– I remember reading on an Internet forum about how couples discussed finances and when they needed to discuss purchases. At that point I rarely discussed anything of the sort with him, mainly because I never made large purchases. I was out frivolously spending his money on clothes for the kids, groceries, gifts for the family, household items and bills! Anyway, our dog needed expensive surgery. I called him at work to ask his opinion on what we should do. His response? “Why are you calling me at work about this? Isn’t this what I pay you for?”

– It was all about him! I was never “allowed” to be angry or upset, unhappy or discontent. He moved us 2000 miles across the country and then pouts because I’m not adjusting quickly enough.

– I hated our old house. Maybe hate is too strong of a word. It wasn’t my first choice. It was HIS choice. But he got very offended at the idea that I didn’t like the house. “I’m paying the fucking mortgage; I would think you would appreciate this house a little bit more!” Hey- I can appreciate the fact that I made the friends and the connections and got involved the way that I did because we bought that particular house. It still doesn’t mean it was the house I would have chosen. He has a fucking affair with his goddamn whore of a cousin and he’s crying because I haven’t forgiven him fast enough. Not to mention I haven’t completely forgotten about it.

– In a similar vein he bought me an under the counter can opener one year. Don’t mock him; I loved the one I had originally and I wanted another one. But this particular one was a dud. It didn’t open smoothly and it got to the point where you would stop and start a dozen times and the damn can still wouldn’t be opened! I never said a word though because I knew if I did it would devolve into a pity party and how he was the absolute worst husband in the world and obviously he couldn’t do anything right. I guess that would fall under the category of “Never Criticize Him. Ever.” Why? Because he can’t take it. I think he’d rather take a punch to the face than have anyone tell him he’s wrong.

– I remember one time a kid was having a meltdown. I don’t remember what it was about but I do remember I was fed up. I called him at work and got his voicemail. I proceeded to let the kid scream and cry on his voicemail. Boy, was he pissed! “Thanks for making me feel bad!” Hey, no problem! I’d like you to get the full experience of parenthood instead of the whitewashed version.

– I picked up his jeans to wash them while we were at his mom’s. He asked where they were and I told him they were in the washing machine. He made some snide comment about how he was going to wear them that day so I made an offhand remark about how he should be thanking me for doing his laundry instead of yelling at me. That did not go over well! He hissed at me that he thanked me for every little thing I did, blah blah blah. I don’t remember the rest of it but I do know his little rant brought me to tears. All for washing his fucking jeans!

– He would never tell me when he was getting low on socks or underwear or undershirts. Anything really. No, instead he would wait until he had been out of something for several days, up to a week before he would speak up. “I’ve been wearing the same pair of underwear for five days now.” Jesus Christ on crutches! Can you not tell me when you’re getting low on something or do you honestly expect me to inventory your fucking drawers to see what you have? As an aside I hate to do laundry so I would regularly buy him extra socks, underwear, undershirts, etc. It would definitely be possible to have a laundry basket overflowing with clothes and still have plenty of clothes to wear, so it’s not like a full hamper was a huge clue that he was running low. The sad part is I had convinced myself at one point that I *should* be checking his drawers so that he never ran out of anything. I was a bad, bad wife for not keeping on top of all of this!

– This is one a friend of mine remembers just because she thought it was such bullshit. I was never “allowed” to use his grill. That was his. He couldn’t believe it when we went to a cookout at her house and she was the one grilling! His little man mind was blown!

– This one isn’t so much a major gripe but again, this is my list of Festivus grievances so… whenever he would grill steaks he considered it a personal insult if anyone would use steak sauce on the steaks. Apparently, he was such a master griller that no one should ever need condiments when he was the chef. For the record, I LOVE A-1 sauce. Judge away!

– He didn’t like chicken so I rarely made any dishes with chicken. I certainly didn’t make a roasted chicken or fried chicken. But then it got tricky. Kinda like how he hated mayonnaise and it made him gag but he liked tartar sauce… some chicken was ok. Shredded chicken. Breaded chicken. Chicken in casseroles- but only sometimes.

– He didn’t like mushrooms so whenever I would make spaghetti sauce or beef stroganoff I would fix his plate first and then I would add the mushrooms to the rest of the dish and heat it up before serving the rest of us.

– We went over to a friend’s house one evening and we were supposed to bring something to share (read: I was supposed to make something to share). I don’t even remember what it was that he wanted me to bring but I do remember I chose to make two other things instead. Man-child actually pouted and was pissed that I made something other than what he had “asked” me to make. He didn’t like what I made instead and that made him very sad. He probably wanted me to make taco dip and I made spinach and artichoke dip and broccoli salad instead. Ha! You will never again taste my taco dip, you cousin fucking, soul sucking waste of skin! Or my biscuits and gravy.

I continue to be amazed by stupidity. I’ve heard it said that it’s okay to give your all to someone else but that in turn that person should be willing to give their all to you. I’m afraid that’s just never going to happen again. I’m too damn tired. I wasted my best years on a person who didn’t deserve it. I don’t have the energy to be nice to another man.

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