Tonight was the night to pick out new carpet for the house. You know, the carpet that will make potential buyers ignore the old kitchen, windows, tiles, bathrooms but will, instead, make them see the dazzling potential of this house. (It really is a nice house in a great location.)
It was raining and it was rush-hour, so it was a long drive out to Lowe’s where he had decided that we would get the best price. Now this is his responsibility, he needs to deal with the carpet, but he is afraid of responsibility because then he can’t blame someone else for screwing up. So I was there to participate in the carpet-picking decision. Only problem is: he was there and I was there, and that is not a good mix.
About an hour or so earlier, at home, he started to tell me that wood floors would be too expensive. (I had made the suggestion the day before.) I said okay, but he kept on telling me about the per square foot calculations, but since it’s too expensive, I don’t care about them and told him that it doesn’t matter. (Also, the less I need to hear his voice and get one of his lectures, the better.) Words which the lawyer in the room would twist and throw back at me as if his life is a walking courtroom.
Back to Lowe’s. He showed me the carpet padding and showed how the price works. Okay. (I have a master’s degree, I can figure this out.) Then he showed me a piece of carpet, pointed to the price and said, This is the price. You said you don’t care about the calculations but you should.
I said that about the wood.
I’m not married to you, he said in reaction to my slightly raised and aggravated tone.
Don’t tell me what I think and feel.
I recorded it. And as he reached into his pocket for his little recorder friend, I turned and sashayed right out of Lowe’s.
I do not need to swallow any bile from him. I do not need to have him twist and distort my words. I do not need to participate in the carpet decision. Let him gather his balls together and do something.
On the way home I stopped at the supermarket. We needed milk, and I needed an apple fritter for breakfast.
He was home when I got home. I figured that he would have stayed and ordered the carpet. I guess he’s still playing with his balls, it seems that when he doesn’t have me around, they just don’t work.