Monday, April 28, 2008

I've Always Loved Matchbox 20....

Because they capture my insanity and all-too-clear awareness of it.

Consider this an apt dedication to Charlie Brown today:



Let's just say that last night we had a bit of a public tiff. Nothing major, just a little Charlie Brown drama. He came into a conversation late, proceeded to interrupt with a gossiping spirit and judgment, I wanted to stay clear of that realm and I cut him off in front of everyone.

Which you know, a woman cutting off her husband in public is a huge no-no to a traditionalist male with fragile ego syndrome.

And his pride got hurt, so he stormed off in a huff. (The kids were already loaded and we had taken separate cars).

It was only slightly embarrassing, as I had attempted to curtail his tantrum. To no avail.

So I was left with the group of church friends with a silent shrug: Welcome to my world, ya'll.

I'd planned on going out with DSW afterward and so I did.

When I got home he was asleep.

This morning, I called to apologize for cutting him off like I had - I knew that he has issues with that and it was disrespectful, but I wanted him to know I was trying to keep the conversation above board, that he'd started into it out of context.

I got told that it was the way I cut him off.

I reminded him that I had said, "Let's not go there" like 3 times before I waved my hand at him, and if he would just show some respect and restraint it could have been avoided entirely. Instead what happened happened and I was left, in a situation no different than the one he'd perceived me putting him in: publicly humiliated.

Did I get an apology for that?

No.

And that really pisses me off.




© 2008 Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

3 comments:

  1. Life.. complicated.

    I'm sorry.

    ReplyDelete
  2. The male ego - so strong yet so easily shattered. And so oblivious.

    I'm sorry.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Sorry hun. Men are missing a vital gene that renders them clueless to understanding women.

    ReplyDelete