Monday, January 10, 2011

No Place Like Home

Well.  Camping rained out.  Home.  Done.  Dusted.  At least it is as far as I'm concerned.

It is hard work.  It was bloody hot; and there was no damned relief!  When I squeaked off and spent longer than the demanded 4 minutes for a shower, I got to feel clean for about 4.3 seconds.  Then my feet were dirty again!  There was a world of sweat.  Ice was at a minimum and although the bugs weren't exactly terradactyls, they were out in force as soon as the sun started to dip to the point where at night you'd need a blood transfusion.

I usually adapt;  not so for the wet bed as the rain and wind drenched us last night.  There were hurricane winds that had the tent shuddering and me fearing I'd wake in Kansas.  And let's face it; I'd already hit the "there's no place like home" part and tapping my ruby havaianas sure wasn't working.

We awoke to kid three alerting us "the tent is wet!" and haven't stopped since.  Bedding.  Pillows.  My neatly packed suitcase with ironed, folded and stacked by colours clothes - wet!  There was a river rolling down the tent and across the floor.  All campsites surrounding us packed up and left; leaving us with dripping hair and no neighbours.  Hell, I had to drag the coffee over to a rotunda just to make my morning coffee!  And even then I had to sit on the table since the rotunda was a swamp.

Holiday???  Crap.  Rain!  And yes, week one consisted of long walks in the sun and cooking meals that the neighbours were coming over to ask about (we had to be famous for something and it sure wasn't getting drunk and rowdy).  But underlying the whole damned holiday has been the harridan...  Dictating.  She is relentless.

She delayed us going.  Each day was some drama.  Never ending questions about stuff that has absolutely nothing to do with her!  Then she wouldn't let kid three come for several days which just added stress to the squeeze (and therefore me).  Then she would let him come, but only on the proviso that the squeeze bought our 'first aid' bag to hold open so she could check that we actually had everything the modern velvet wearer thinks you should have in a first aid kit (including vix vapour rub {wtf? - it's 34 freaking degrees here!!!}  

As you can imagine, with an opinionated cow like myself - this created angst between us.  I figure he should tell her to F herself sideways with a pogo stick and lawyer up.  He figures to see his son, he has to put on a bow tie, fluff the curls and jump through the hoops of fire she holds out for him - like any good moodle.

And of course he bow tied up which affects our relationship because I have to say, that whole bow tie thing is incredibly unattractive.  If you don't have any respect for yourself, how the hell do you expect anyone else to have respect for you..?  And going off and holding out some first aid bag like Oliver asking for more - well that is about the bottom of the food chain as far as I can tell.  No wonder she gets so much enjoyment out of sticking the boot in.

And we keep talking about the changes; but that is all it ever is.  Talk.   Nearly 1.5 years in - still nothing has changed.  She walks around like she owns the place (including, I suspect, putting soap on my toothbrush).  Tells him what he can and can't do.  Hell, he even pays the family health insurance and whatever else he is told to; because we may not have been allowed to have the kid, but the text demands "he needs shoes.  He needs a swimming top.  He needs blah blah blah - Cha-Ching!" sure as hell keep coming!

So suffice to say that stress levels, circus music, rings of fire and harridan hell continued right up until the final farewell; including the squeeze, who after our discussion that rain for 4 or 5 days was taking the great outdoors too far, decided he just had to squeak off and call the wife prior to us leaving...  Just to make sure she knows everything about our life...  

Frankly, I'm surprised he didn't call to tell her we had sex yesterday morning.

And the worst of the whole thing is that in the middle of the night, before the river through the tent; I awoke to the squeeze saying quite loudly; "I love you".  Kind of weird because he never finds it easy to say.  Certainly not like I do (which has actually hampered my frequency to say it).

Still, I woke, leaned over and checked...  He was asleep.
At first I thought it was cute that he would say in his sleep what he struggles to say in wakefulness.

Today; I figured that the words probably weren't for me.
Frankly, I doubt he has permission to love me.

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