We stayed over my side of town for the weekend prior and although I thoroughly enjoy our ‘my side of town’ weekends; I pay for it the next time over there – it is particularly nasty when we haven’t been there to clean intermittently. Not one speck of bench space was visible. Food, empty tins, dishes littered every available surface. At least my wine glass was clean. I made use of it.
I turn off the ‘clean freak’ gene when there. At least I try to shut it down and just thank the Lord that the squeeze knows enough to change the bed prior to my coming.
So off we go to dinner. All in all, it is a good night full of food, wine, lively discussion. The kid is smart, funny - so conversation always flows – well it does when you don’t question. If the squeeze dares to ask: “what did you do last night..?” He gets the same answer every time. Nothing. No one. This kid is amazing how long he can be out with no one, doing nothing.
We get home in time to potter around and go to bed. It’s always an early gig when on that side of town as we both work over this side. We go to bed relatively early but I toss and turn because number two son is excited and playing loud music as he packs. (The very thought of packing for a month long trip the night before, sends shivers down my organised spine) Number one son is staying over and suddenly there are two voices and we whisper in the darkness “who is that? Can you hear a girl?”
I don’t sleep well when there at the best of times. I lie on the stupid trendy futon that feels like a brick and I feel my hip go to sleep until I turn to the other side. But that night, all I can think about is the little squashed cockroach on the bathroom floor – I’d rather see a big one. This size could crawl into my ear in the middle of the night. As soon as the thought leaps into my head, I know it will never leave.
I finally drift off then wake to hear the mysterious girl, leave. More loud music. I toss and turn some more, curve into the squeeze’s back – he is out like a light. Bastard.
Next thing, the alarm is going off and he is rolling out of bed and five minutes later, parading around the bedroom in his speedo’s – wiggling it in my face. He knows how much I love those speedos… Not. It is barely light out and he is off to do laps at the pool. I wish I had the commitment; hell, I wish I had the desire to have the commitment…
I can’t go back to sleep and decide I’ll get up and shower and get ready early. I’m back in the bedroom dressing when I hear the squeeze walking around the kitchen and I decide I’ll go and tease him that his stint of laps was the shortest history. So, barely dressed, hair a mess – I go hunt him out and as I round the corner to the kitchen; Wally jumps out.
Actually, it wasn’t Wally. It was the Harridan. WTF??? It’s six-freaking-thirty in the morning. She has come to take number two son to the airport. WTF? He has to be there at midday! But what the hell is she doing walking around the damned house?
I go back to the bedroom, shut the door and get ready for work; all the while fuming about this person who has no freaking idea about manners – or boundaries. And wondering how the hell I can deal with her from here on in. Because I know damned well the squeeze is incapable of it. When I think of her – he becomes the “moodle” in my head (a man poodle).
The squeeze tends to make excuses for her; yet I persevere and remind him that for us to have some sort of life together means he needs to set boundaries. I’m uncertain why anyone needs to be told to not enter someone else’s house – but she obviously does.
And he seems to get it. Briefly.
He takes me out for breakfast and then walks me to the train station and off I go – into the city, secure in the knowledge that it is sorted. We have talked about it. He is going back to talk to her about boundaries – and the divorce that he has been going to talk to her about; is fine with talking to her about – yet never seems to have the time or opportunity.
That night, at home, I ask about the divorce. No time to mention that this morning. I ask about a discussion on boundaries; and why the hell she feels as though she can enter someone else’s home… Why it seems to be ok for me to turn a corner and she is leaping out at me.
What did I get? I’ll be moving soon so what is the point? ‘Get over it…’ That was the comment that ended the discussion. Fifteen months and still no change. At what point does the moron think I will walk away?
All I’ve thought about since is the nut doctor telling him, “no one wants to feel as though they are wasting their time…” And knowing by her words, that she thought I probably was.
Next time Wally jumps out at me; I’m going to whack her in the face with a frying pan.