It's Not Me, It's You

Oh, have I turned into a hard arse, lately? I'm not really sure.

I came home in the afternoon, in the rain to have my roller door play up with its new favourite trick, no, not failing to close, but closing and then opening again straight away. I had to keep running back out into the pouring rain to repeatedly push the button to get it to close. (Upon reflection, I could have just left it open until the rain stopped, however...) I had hands full of shopping bags and I’d just spent most of the day with my mother - who's general impaired state, I must admit, can make me a little feisty, now a days. And, I freely admit that my wick is a little short around about now, quitting addictions and all, but really, I was coming home to my own house, somewhere I should be free of judgement by others. I believe.

Well, you see, David was in the lounge room watching a movie with a girlfriend, The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas. And I was ticked off with the roller door and I didn’t hold back with my, shall we say, colourful language.

"You cuntful peace of crap," I think was something like what I said. Repeated, to be sure!

Oh, they looked so cosy and I was a headless chook.

After that, when I finally got the roller door to stay closed and I was inside, I asked David what crap movie he was watching, which is something I always do. It’s a bit of a joke between us, he likes fairy floss Hollywood movies and, well, I don’t.

Then I stopped and looked around and sitting in the kitchen in the vase, which David normally fills with gorgeous lilies, were garish, cerise orchids.

“Could you have got uglier flowers?” I asked.

Now, I have to admit that as I asked the question, I wondered if David’s friend had bought them for him, but I didn't care enough to stop myself. I could have, but I didn't.

“My friend bought them for me, how rude,” said David.

Yes, an oops moment, but... “Well, they are a cack colour,” I said.

They really looked like David didn't have time to go to the normal florist and he'd dropped into 7 11 in desperation.

Afterwards, David came to the study door crying and asked if he had done something to upset me.

That seems to be David’s modus de operandi, if he is upset by somebody or something, he turns back into the spoilt child.

“What evidence do you have for me being upset with you?” I asked.

“When you came home you were so aggressive. You commented on the shit movie we were watching and insulted my friend about her flowers.”

“Oh, don’t be such a child...”

“Well,” pearl clutch, “that’s how it made me feel.” Sob, sob.

“Firstly, I was annoyed at having to run out into the rain five times to attend to the recalcitrant roller door and my anger was directed towards it, not you. I’m not sorry for my behaviour, I should be able to act as I please when I am coming into my own house. (David is one for presentation and I am one for presenting the same me to everyone) Secondly, I always joke about the movies you watch, you know that. The Notebook and all. (David's favourite movie) It was a joke. And thirdly, I didn't know that Marie had bought the flowers, but really, what does she care about what I think about her flowers. If she is really upset by my comment, I might suggest she go out into the real world and live a little.”

Apparently, Marie went home and cried too.

WTF?

Are we turning into a namby pamby bunch of spineless scaredy cats, or what?

Yes, we are!

It's like this new non-critical political correctness has negated our ability to deal with anger... on any level?