Exciting Pair of Slippers

Yes.  That was what the idiot I’m living with decided would be the best line to give me after reading yesterday’s blog.  “I don’t see anything wrong with that analogy!”  Then finished it up with “you could be an exciting slipper…”  which immediately had me picturing those old fashioned pump slippers with a feather on the toe; gauzy night gown over the top; hair very 1940’s style.  Hmm not as bad as I was first picturing I guess.

Of course he destroyed that picture immediately by saying “like a Grosby.”  WTF?  A Grosby is a mouldy old man’s tartan slipper!

And maybe one of my personalities is a comfortable old slipper, but I’m a Gemini through and through – right down to the twin personalities.  There is me, and every so often (and I get to see more of her lately) we have the arrival of ‘Lydia – the Cold Hearted Bitch’.  

Someone I dated a long time ago explained to me over dinner that he seen the exact moment that Lydia had arrived at the table.  Mind you, he was a sleaze bag and in all probability is a runner up for the crown of ‘biggest bastard I ever dated’.   My sister once emailed him and began the tirade with “I’m appealing to you as a human to a toad…”  And that was only the beginning.  So I’m pretty certain he saw Lydia more than anyone else on the planet.  So as far as things go, maybe I should like the ‘comfortable yet exciting old slipper’.

However, I did mention he should probably watch out that I don’t turn into a stiletto!

All’s Fair…

To be fair, my stress levels are running on high at the moment.  Work sucks; a bunch of interlopers hover on the peripheral of our circled wagons, firing flaming arrows at us.  They’ve hit a few, but some of us have hunkered down… Ready for a fight. 

I find it hard to shut off when one area of my life is caving in.  I’d find it just as hard to concentrate at work if my love life was teetering on the edge.  So I’m in a constant state of high stress, which I am attempting to keep within the hours of 9-5; I'm not always successful at this.

Last night, after 54 episodes of The Shield (which I will admit, I had instigated the watching of the last one by saying: “just one more…” – but Hell, they left it on a cliff hanger!) Anyhow, the Squeeze didn’t put up a fight so it was late to bed. 

Although it is early days in our living together, I am stressing about our existence which appears to be basically in front of the television.  That and the fact that after one week, he sees me as a ‘comfortable old slipper’ – and can’t understand why I find this analogy totally and mind-blowingly offensive.

Last year in February, someone asked me about a show and my reply was “I don’t know. I actually haven’t watched any television yet this year…”  I play music.  I cook and play music.  How can I go from that, to this?  And there is so much of it!  It is a never ending list of must watch shows!!

Last night before falling asleep I muttered that maybe we should invoke a meal rule.  No television.  Eat at the table like civilised people; with music.  He agreed and this mollified me to some extent, but the trick will be in keeping the damned box switched off until after dinner and dishes.

So after a fretful night sleep, worrying about work and television and being a mouldy old slipper, I was frazzled while getting ready for work.  I stuffed up the making of our coffee which was so strong it could have killed a black dog – not to mention the fact that it escalated my nerves as the caffeine hit my system.  

The Squeeze put on some music which I figured would shut my mind off for a moment and give me some peace - instead, it turned out to be one of those horrendous jazz things he loves and which I find absolutely grating!  Nails down a blackboard grating!!! It’s just a bunch of instruments all vying for attention at the one time and if I had to get through one more bar of it, I knew I would put my foot through his ipod!

In fact, his taste in music is one of the things I love about him.  Not the jazz bit, never that; but the rest is pretty damned good.  Still, this morning I shouted that he shouldn’t be allowed to drive an ipod.  That was after my tantrum that someone had stolen my belt, before finding it in the laundry.  Then the coffee almost killed me and quite possibly could have passed as draino.  Then discovering that I’ve gained back about 3 of the 4 kilo I had lost.  And then I walk into the bedroom, I find a poltergeist has been; either that or the Squeeze only learned how to open a drawer or wardrobe door – not close the freaking thing!

This morning while having a real cup of coffee at work; I realised I was sitting here actually wondering how I could rig up a 12 volt battery with little leads running up to the wardrobe door handle to give a mild buzz when he opened his side of the wardrobe.  Just a reminder...  Door open.  Door close.  Kind of like those groovy dog collars that buzz on their barker box, a little reminder not to dig there or bite that or chew those shoes.  And then I had to wonder about his stupid dicky heart, and how much voltage I should use.  I wanted to remind him, not actually kill him.

It was then that I realised; he is actually driving me mad.

Romance…

I understand that as time wears on, things in the romance department sometimes slinks down the ladder of importance and suddenly, you find you are trying to slot nights of passion in and around the next episode of The Shield.

But hell; I’d like to think that would take longer than a week.

Yep.  That is all it took folks.

One week.

It’s Your Story…

Seems the land of 'hands over ears' is still alive and well.  The moron, when faced with a comment depicting the resounding and not erroneous supposition that he and the Harridan are in fact, entering the land of 'child abuse' – as they leave this kid to limp around in pain for months on end – answers me with quote, ‘it’s your story’ – unquote.

Moron.  

And the tent is up!  Music echoes around the de la main!  Ball rolls out!  Moodle; prances for his dinner!

Idiot.

Kill Me Now…

I basically need a shoe horn to fit all this stuff into my house.

I am a very neat, ‘cull it’ kind of gal.  I can leave things along the way without stress or looking back, be it husbands, houses, clothes or junk.  There are many that just can’t do this.  The Squeeze is one of them – judging by the plastic bags full of bills that go back to 2004 that peraded into my house.

Ok.  A few years back they invented the internet.  And then, internet banking.  I can call up my bPay list and have a complete list of what bills I paid, when and how much.  So what the hell is with the grocery bags of paper..?  And 2004?

The world is not going to end if you ditch that bag of bills!  And the worst part of it is that I actually contemplated just dumping them; it’s not like he would ever need them or know about it.  Except that we are talking such a disorganised heap that there are bits of manuscripts littered in between!  And notebooks!   One I pulled out had a “harriden lecture” from the early 2000’s.  Sigh.  We get enough of those, I tossed the damned thing.

Still; now I understand why the Kid 1, 2 & 3 and messy little swines.  Mum and Dad are slothful, if not downright lazy.  You grow up in that environment and that is life as you know it.

But if you breed lazy, self centred kids, you better be ready to acknowledge the fact that you created your own problem.  Kid 2, lazy swine that is, hasn’t turned up for one moving or cleaning day.  This kid has had everything handed to him on a plate.  Holiday’s in Vietnam (and defaulting on the payment for that bribe); to having most of the Squeeze’s furniture to move into his own place with.  But help out..?  Not likely.

Upside is that I think the Squeeze may have actually seen this; sucked it up and acknowledged that maybe he hasn’t done the kid, or himself any favours and I think he will toughen up on him now.  That of course, won’t stop the Harridan and her ‘helicopter’ style of do everything you can for them, but it may help the kid see that respect is given when it is received.

Hell, one fairy story and kid 3 was making is bed each day – granted, not like I make it, you couldn’t bounce a coin on it lol; it didn’t even have have sheets with hospital corners.  But I don’t require perfection when he is here.  It is supposed to be lived in, have personality.  I just want an attempt at neatness!

We definitely need a bigger house; but we are both too exhausted to move.  This may work in my favour…  I will threaten.  Cull or we have to move.  That should get action.

Aside from crap everywhere; things are good.  ‘We’; as a couple, have always been kind of insular.  And at dinner the other night my best friend pointed out that this is a good thing.  I need some controversy in my life and if you must have conflict, far better that it sit outside of “us” and firmly with the Harridan.  If perfect, I get bored and walk away.  She was as dead right as only best friends can be.

I’m not expecting perfect any time soon.  The Harridan has had the divorce papers for over a month now.  Obviously struggles to sign her damned name.

When I Rule The World...

There will be no school holidays...

No red headed kids...  It will be the beginning of the perfect world!

As much as I quite like kid 3; I miss the 'us' time that doesn't exist for a whole week; and, it seems there is nothing for him to do.  I don't feel guilty about that, because there was nothing for him to do in 'clean freak hell' either...  He just seems kind of bored and I wonder why.

When I was 13 or 14, I was home as little as possible.  I was off at friends places.  If I was home; I was home with a friend staying over.

Can't say I haven't always wondered at the kids inability in the friendship department. I mean hell, I've often thought she may as well drag him onto the front lawn and write loser on his forehead.  Now that the poor kid goes to the school she is 'art teacher' at... Well hell, may as well kill him now!

The Claytons Infection

Well I’m over discussing the toe and being continuously wrong. If it falls off; then so be it. 

The short of the story (until it drops off) is that it doesn’t have an infection. Obviously this the infection you are having when you are not having an infection because the Moodle has on good authority that there is no infection; in fact, he has been told by a doctor! 

Actually, he has been told by the Harridan. I’m just not seeing any doctor (one that actually has MD after his name at least) saying that this toe [pictured] does not have an infection. Well not unless he is mopping sweat from his brow; in fear of his life from the harridan sitting opposite like a bull dog.

It doesn’t matter what I say. The fear factor is so firmly entrenched.  The whole of the western world and Wikipedia knows that no amount of Epsom Salt soaks or the taking of vitamin C is curing this; he just won’t listen. In fact he may as well put his hands over his ears and start loudly vocalising ‘la la la’ in an attempt to drown me out because he doesn’t want to hear it.

If he hears it, understands it; he will have to accept that maybe I’m right – then he would have to argue with her about a course of treatment. And he is not ready for that. He will never be ready for that. Not in this damned lifetime.

Hell, on some level I don’t blame him because I’ve heard her.  We are talking Kyle Reese in the original Terminator:  “Listen, and understand.   The Harridan is out there.  It can't be bargained with.  It can't be reasoned with.   It doesn't feel pity, or remorse, or fear.  And it absolutely will not stop, ever, until you are dead.”

Yes. That is the perfect movie quote to sum up the Harridan. She is relentless.

Still, at some point you have to man the hell up and take the damned thing down; even if you lose a few men on the way. 

Now is this infected I ask?:  The Toe

School Holidays… Yay

Yes.  That was sarcasm.  I never quite understood why they had to have so many damned school holidays!  And they are never ending.  Sheesh, kid 3 had been at school for about 2.3 seconds when the Squeeze had him for the first curriculum day.  Another few weeks and there was another!  WTF?  Keep them in school already!  Boarding school even better!

Still, we have been managing to struggle our way through kid 3 stepping into the clean zone as part of our new ‘living together’ arrangement.  Would have preferred it not be in our first week since we’ve had zip time together, but that is how the cards fell.

It hasn’t been all plain sailing. 

Firstly, I am somewhat opinionated.  Shocked you; I know…  And its hard work attempting to keep my mouth shut sometimes.  And yes, it is attempting – it’s a real trial!

I mean this kid has been seriously brain washed over the years; the Squeeze also to some extent.  For example, in some weirdo attempt at left wing, velvet wearing conservation (and obscenely horrific to me) it would appear that you can’t press the toilet button… Yuk!  But wait; it seems you can leave 15 lights on throughout the house!  I can tell you, I’m not much of a greenie and the loo get’s flushed or you die!

Then we have the foot saga that continues.  It’s actually not infected; according to the Squeeze who got it from the Harridan.   Umm yeah – I guess that red, puffy bit to the side of the toe just doesn’t exist.  Never mind, I’m sure next week’s ‘eye of newt’ will fix that right up – and when all is said and done, if the kid loses a foot – what the hell do I care?  Ain’t my kid.

Then we had those traits one picks up when being dragged up through a hovel.  The first day of his stay I get home from work to find clothes tossed over the floor and the bed left in a rumpled mess.  Well hell, you may not have to clean up after yourself over with mummy, but over in the land of clean, we actually tidy up after ourselves…

I wasn’t quite sure how to approach the subject.  I mean I didn’t want to terrorise the kid during his first run over at ‘our’ place, but I wanted to begin as I mean to go on.

So I kicked the clothes to the corner of the room and sat down to write him a fairy story that I then proceeded to print out and leave on the neatly made bed. 

Somewhat strangely, when I walked passed this morning on my way to work, I noticed that he had made the bed…  And he did take it good humouredly.

Not sure if it is possible to upload it, but I will attempt to get it up here, because I’m telling you; if you have a messy kid, you could use it as a template.  In fact I am planning on writing a whole collection of them!

Hope you enjoy:  The Bed Fairy

Stupid Blog!

I’ve been completely slack in the blogging arena and even though I had good reasons, such as the cleaning of all ‘clean freak hell’ artefacts entering my home; it still made me feel disloyal; slack…   Not to mention that when I am not blogging, my ability to vent is stifled!

So although I was tardy last week, I did sit and blog on Saturday and Sunday; to no avail due to the ‘technical difficulties’ Google was having in blog land.  So I had to blog and email them to myself so that I could just update it when it was working again… Which is now I guess!

This was Saturday’s Blog:  And On It Goes…

Did she have the divorce papers for him..?  Of course she didn’t have them. 

The Squeeze is obviously too damned stupid to complete the papers and file them with any form of competency.  She must do it if it is to be done correctly.  Yes folks, this is the same person than stuffs up everything she tries to organise with the kids and then send the Squeeze screaming text messages consisting of ‘you fix it!!!!’

So was I happy leaving it in her velvet wearing hands to see it done…?  No actually; I was not.

Perhaps I would reconsider that stance if I thought she was actually prepared to pay for the damned thing.  But since I haven’t seen on the news that the world has been overrun by the giant scorpions currently residing in her wallet – then that sure as hell wasn’t going to happen.  She dictates.  She rules.  She sure as hell doesn’t pay.

So I took a deep breath and attempted to calm, because this was expected.  Hell, she is a controlling bitch so he was never going to walk in the door with signed papers in hand.

She needs to hold them because this gives her some sort of perceived control, and quite possibly allows her to tell all her lesbian friends that she was the one doing the divorcing.  Weird; because I’m sure most of the sane Western World would be wondering why the divorce hadn’t been done years ago.  So as far as I can tell, there is nothing to be gained from being the one to instigate it.

And let’s not forget the “I’ll come home with a figure or a court date!” speech by the Squeeze as he pranced off to Clean Freak Hell to meet her Saturday morning.  Did we get either of those things..?  No discussion.  No figure.  He dragged his defeated little poodle curls in the front door; bow tie limp; the sparkle missing from his eyes.

No figure.  No court date. 

That totally shocked me; I mean I was sure it would be done that very day!  (Yes, hopefully you can actually see the sarcasm dripping from those words.)  Frankly, I don’t believe he will be able to do the maintenance discussion/agreement part.  He gives in too easily.  She will hold the kid to ransom until he caves.

In the end, I suspect it will need to go to a lawyer to work it out because she couldn’t care less if he can live or not.

I already suggested he get the child support agency to figure it out.  I know; I know, that is a big call.  But even run by a pack of man hating lesbians, wanting to strip you bare and hang you out to dry, you couldn’t do worse than he is now!  Combine that with the minor point that she would have to start declaring and paying tax on the income she receives as rent on the house and I see it as a win/win situation.

I did a spread sheet for him last week with costs that I knew he had been given so far for the year (and I can guarantee there are a hell of a lot that have passed me by) – he is paying over 1k per month in maintenance – for one kid.  

No wonder he is broke…  But I hold out a slither of hope.  Seeing it in black and white; organised in nice neat, little auto sum columns – I do believe put it in his face and made him actually face up to reality.  It shocked him to see that she has ridden on his inability to organise for years; and ridden it well.  Frankly, I’ve never understood such selfishness; it is short sighted because he was always going to find another life and start to see just how imbalanced the financials have been.

Or maybe she just figured she would rule forever and he would leap to attention when told. 

And hell, I’m not so sure as yet that that won’t be the case!

Then we had Sunday’s blog:     It’s Criminal

I’ve come to the conclusion that some ‘velvet wearers’ should not be able to breed.  Sorry, but if you’re too damned stupid and selfish to allow your kid to have antibiotics – if you really think you are better off watching them limp around in pain for a month…  That you do in fact, know more than a doctor – even though you’re just some hillbilly art teacher - then I think DHS should bust down your door and drag said kid off for someone else to raise.

And the Moodle?  Well he just goes along with whatever “home remedy” she’s come up with this week!   By next week she’ll be trying bat’s wing and chanting!!!!!

Take That…

I like to think I’m a relatively good mother.  I know my kids would think that I am; not that they wouldn’t say that I can be hard – they would; the beauty of it is that they have known when I had to be hard – it was for a good reason.

I have never used them as a weapon.  I protected them as much as I could without letting them build a fairy tale in their head.

So it irks me beyond believe that the Harridan will yank kid 3 as soon as she doesn’t get her way.  I’m not saying that is the case… yet.  But it is getting damned suspicious that the first 3 times he was to say here with us, suddenly – at the last minute – not coming…

Hmmm that is messing with my organisational skills too because I slaved to finish the spare room, cooked roast lamb and a home-made jam tart… Went and bought him his own little overnight bag of toothpaste and brush and floss etc.  Then at the last minute; nothing.

I suspect this is in regards to the divorce papers that he asked her to bring that we all know she won’t have.  I find her ability with the English language suspect at the best of times (wot u do – ugg) but I figure even she can fill out the small section left to her – and sign it.  If not that, then it is the maintenance discussion – which was always going to get him hung, drawn and quartered.

Oh well.

Are We There Yet..?

The move is so much worse than I could have imagined. 

I freely admit to being a clean freak with an ‘organisational’ issue; and yes, that does come complete with spreadsheets and calendar entries.  But hey, I come from a long line of organisational freaks.  And if I pause to think about it, then I figure being hygienic and organised is a much better trait to have than say, burying people in the backyard under the lilies.

My house is, as I sit at work and type – utter bedlam.

Bedlam… Mayhem… Chaos.  I’m beginning to wonder if it will ever be the same again.

There is just so much stuff, clutter!  And it is scattered in every available area.  Last night I basically ironed for hours and paused to comment that I actually didn’t get to do any of my stuff!  He has been here two freaking days and for that, I basically have to wash, dry and iron everything he owns.  Although he doesn’t quite get this and I’m sure would have quite happily of just shoved them into the wardrobe – wrinkly clothes with that weird ‘didn’t get hung out straight away’ nasty smell lingering, sure as Hell aren’t going into my damned wardrobe and drawers.

And I can only wonder at ‘Clean Freak Hell’; that must certainly be a sight!  When he got home last night, he shook his head in wonder and said ‘but there is still so much to do..?’  Yes.  Well of course there is moron.  I warned him.  The week prior to moving there wasn’t even one box in the house.  It was ‘business as usual’.  If you don’t do the organisational bits, then you have to bleed through the pain of the actual move.   And sorry, but I’m not helping.  I’ve got enough to do as stuff enters my side of town; because there is a ‘layer’ that has to be scrubbed from everything!

Do I even need to mention that there was junk piled upon junk upon junk at his place?  Something I picked up to toss last weekend had a pile of the harridan’s 50^th birthday cards in it – which was at least 4 or 5 years ago.  I pitched them, figuring that if they had any sentimental value at all; she’d have collected them at some stage over the last 4+ years.

In cleaning the ugly shelves in the kitchen, I got 5 large garbage bags of rubbish.  And all he worried about was ‘do I have to check what you threw out..?’  Ummm no.  I’m tipping if I pitched it; it was without doubt, crap.  But hey, knock yourself if you have time to spare!

And when it all comes down to it, he could have just walked away with guitars on one shoulder, plasma on the other (and bags of creepy fat guys in speedos and oil – wrestling dvd’s) slung about his neck; and not bothered with the rest.  Anything of value went to the kids or the Harridan (he hasn’t quite worked out that ‘over’ thing obviously).

I suggested he keep the baby webber as it is handy to have and great if we go anywhere or have anything at home where there are quite a few people – but my suggestion was ignored and he gave that to Kid 2.  And aside from the fact that he won’t look after it; at what point does the Squeeze understand that the kid has not as yet learned to stand on his own two feet; or that basic lesson that we all learned very young – you have to work for the things you want. 

The very suggestion that the Squeeze and Harridan each pay $50 per month towards his rent so that he only has to work 20 hours per week was warning enough if you ask me.  I don’t think I’ve ever heard of something so outlandishly selfish and lazy.

Still, how can the kid learn when the Moodle and his idiot wife do everything except wipe his damned nose? (And seriously, I’m tipping she’d be running with a ‘Mickey Mouse’ tissue if he asked…)

So obviously my opinions or suggestions are to be ignored – although I’m interested to see what he does with the mower… lol 

As for the divorce and the discussion on maintenance – nothing so far although I’m pushing for these discussions to be had next week since its school holidays!  And I can only see drama unfolding there, because I don’t intend to skimp on everything just so that she can live the good life – that’s for damned sure!  And he will need to do the whole roll over and pee down your leg in some weird doggy mixture of fear and adoration!

Hmm wonder how long I’ll put up with this – before my freaking head explodes!

Compounding and Confounding

Astounding.  I know that my life is often a roller coaster; and in tarot card speak; it does tend to ‘the tower’ – everything crashes at the one time – but I have to say that I have basically had the week from hell. 

All weekend, in between moving and cleaning; work has been on mind as I have Rubik’s Cubed it in an attempt to work out the mind of the insane – and even though I tell myself to give it up; snick and click continues and around and around it goes.

My relationship problems seem to have fixed themselves to some degree (as much as they ever do).   I am hoping the simplicity of it will continue for a while because I seriously can’t take much more upheaval.  I already know he is a fool; not to mention an emotional husk – but hell, it is damned hard work.  He came here Friday evening after work and I am ready for it to be the end; I am over banging my head against the wall – proof of this is that I have said “if this is the life you expect, then I don’t want it”.

I’m not stupid.  I’m never going to throw down the gauntlet unless I have every intention of doing what I say – and walk away I would have, and could have.

Midway through our discussion when he pipes up to say “wait a minute… Is this a break up meeting???”  (ummm what freaking planet have you been living on you fool!)  And it all starts again.  The reality is that he has a problem in not being a doormat.  He calls it “wanting to please everyone” – I call it “being a damned fool who is viewed with utter contempt by the Harridan” and mine is much closer to the truth.

And through this week of relationship hell; I have had a very short, praying mantis of a woman who is relatively new to the role and completely useless – bullying me.  You may ask why I haven’t knocked her on her scrawny, ugly arse.  Well that is why they call it bullying; because if she spoke to me in the real world as she does, I would seriously sit her on her arse.  I could flay her with sarcasm – it is bulling because her position means that I can’t.

I’ve kept hoping it would go away, but it obviously won’t.  So it is about to escalate and the bitch is about to find out that this isn’t the freaking KGB.

The Carnival

What I wanted was the Strongman... What I got is the bearded lady.

I received those words from my sister last night.  I couldn't have put it better myself.

I am dating a socially inept, romantically stunted bearded lady;
and quite frankly, it is doing my head in.

The Carnival Is Over…

No… I haven’t suddenly resurrected a Seekers record; in fact I’m pretty positive (although not 100% sure) that I don’t even have a Seekers record.   And why would I need one I ask; when the stinking song is going around and around in my head.

‘Where are things at…’ is what I assume anyone who has been reading this blog is wondering.

Well so far this week we have had the ‘great fridge give-away’; swiftly followed by the ‘shut the hell up, sit down and have no opinion’ email. 

Then I went through a day of indecisiveness and hesitation; we are talking brain full to the point of exploding.  Could I live with the terms?  Could I be happy living with the terms?  And in reality (in those very brief moments of sanity) did I want to step onto a path with terms that were probably going to hurt me?

I’ve been through a roller coaster of emotional upheaval.  Each night it would rattle up the hill of confusion, pause on the brink of hurt and then scream down to the bottom of anger; only to do it all over again.  And again.  For three nights.

And let’s face it.  Anyone reading this blog has known all the long that ‘Hurstville’ is where I was headed; with a one way ticket…  On a damned express train…

And yet after those three days and nights of mind numbing thoughts circling around and around; I finally realised (with a single moment of clarity and one comment from my sister) that this really shouldn’t be this hard.  And it has always been hard!  From the very start when I basically had to get a crow bar and a pair of tin snips to pry the wedding ring from his finger – that he was still wearing because he ‘liked it’.

How can it possibly be so hard?  We are both adult, single; marriages over – in love.  Moving forward, wanting a life together.  A partnership; united.  Us against the world.

But then I realised that is exactly the problem.  It isn’t ‘us’ in the centre and all others on the peripheral.  It is he and the Harridan in the eye – and I’m the one being flung around in the storm of this cyclone.

I tried to think about it rationally; use my Rubik’s Cube method for good, rather than evil…  But no amount of twisting the cube seemed to fit.

And then I awoke to the realisation that there is one part I don’t know; something that the rest of the world must know, but that has escaped me.  And until I am sitting at the table with the same amount of cards as everyone else, I’m really just sitting here with aces and eights – a dead man’s hand.

The Lie Guy

I once went out with a lie guy.  Oh hell, I have been out with buckets of liars, but this guy was an expert in the field of lie detection.  He told me that the rule of thumb is pretty simple in that people don’t want to lie; are probably not comfortable lying, so attempt to answer it as honestly as possible – trick is that they just avoid giving you the answer to the question you asked. 

For example, he was telling me about a particular case here in Australia – I believe it was the guy that killed his wife and child with a spear gun and dumped them at the tip.  In fact we were sharing a very nice dessert at a very nice restaurant at the time.  However, the husband was all over the news doing the standard ‘woe is me’ for the camera… ‘Please come home’ [bottom lip quivering.]

And of course they were always going to look at him; idiot.  I mean, hey, if the marriage is crap and the wife is about to divorce you, try not to go down the “she just disappeared” track, because the cops are really just not that stupid.

When going to court, a journalist shouted at the accused “did you kill your wife and child?”  You figure that is pretty simple right.  It is a very direct question.  And it is.

In fact, the lie guy told me that if he hadn’t of killed them, he would have said no.  Instead, the guy replied “I did not harm my wife and child” – a deliberate change to the actual question.  He struggled to just say the outright lie of “no.  I did not kill my wife and child.”  The lie guy was spot on of course and the creep is in prison.

This is not a trip down memory lane; this is explaining my philosophy; my theory to give insight as to how I get from point A to point B.

You see I started this blog because every time the Squeeze did something that I consider destructive to our relationship, I would sit and write him a lengthy email; pouring my heart out.  Explaining it in detail – things that I figure anyone with half a brain should be able to work out without assistance.  For example, if dating me, it’s never going to be cool with me for you to go off on the ‘happy family holiday’ over Christmas; or give me a wok and her, a bbq for the birthdays.  Or seem incapable of actually achieving any of the milestones agreed to around the divorce, or the maintenance or the will… Super!  The list is endless really.

So in reply to the three line email that covers off that my profuse swearing throughout it is unattractive, that I have an opinion, but given that it is after the event, it just doesn’t count; and my particular favourite, is he searching for accommodation or not – I send a much longer email [although please note, I cut it to the bare bones prior to sending] mentioning that his weakness is ugly – so we are even [please… insult me and expect retaliation. I’m no freaking moodle!]

I also detailed that for a relationship to work, we have to discuss and agree – not progress and give the other a fait accompli.  That while he is busy giving away all and sundry, then what the hell is he actually bringing to the relationship [he didn’t like this however, if it is his stuff to give away without discussion and too bad for my opinion, then what is at my place is mine and got nothing to do with him – his rules, not mine].

But the main thread of my manifesto; or epiphany if you like – was that he had obviously made that decision prior, but deliberately didn’t discuss it with me.  Considering that we are moving in together, I kind of figure that means we are the ‘couple’ and the Harridan the outsider.  Apparently, this is not so.

And here in lies the problem within our relationship; the same problem that has been there for the last 1.5 years – and is very much beginning to sound as though it won’t change.  Sadly, when there is any argument at his decisions around his inability to say no to her, I get “it is in your head”.  Umm no.  Actually, it is in her kitchen.

So, on the Squeeze’s totem pole, I am at the bottom.

What I say, need, think – has no bearing on his actions.  It is the Harridan who controls things.  You may ask, as I did, why?  What exactly does this mean?  It’s not about her withholding Boy 3; hell, the Squeeze has him more than the norm so withholding would appear to be a trip down ‘cutting off your nose to spite your face’.

So of course I have to ask.   I gulp it down and throw it in the ring.  After all, it is pointless for me to move in with someone who actually loves someone else.  And I’ve got to say, I am beginning to feel as though she is ‘the one’; and I’m ‘the one he can actually get’ so hey, let’s kill time with her.  As far as outcomes go, that is a good one for him.  For myself, well I figure I deserve a little better than that.

Remembering here, that if I’m lucky, I’ll get 2 lines in reply – I pose the question, quite plainly; in English.  I even go so far as to make sure he understands the question I am asking and that he needs to answer just that.  Quite simply really.  Yes.  No.  I say ‘do you love your wife?  And please, this is not ‘can you live with her’; or ‘does she want you’.  It is ‘do you love her’.  Of course it was too hard to answer for the next 24 hours; but I received a reply this morning.  Relatively lengthy – for him.  And there it was.

My question: ‘Do you love your wife’.

His answer: ‘I do love you.’