A tough conversation

"Listen,"  I said, standing in the middle of the sewing room, the only place it felt safe to have the conversation without being overheard, "I can't go on like this.  When we first got together it was wonderful, magical in fact.  But lately things have been happening that I just don't understand or know how to deal with.

I know you've been trying to get my attention, but this passive/aggressive way of communicating has got to stop.  If there is something you want or need can't we just talk about it?

Maybe you thought it was funny to have the thermostats not work, even though they looked like they were, so it was freezing in here for two days.  And I can understand the grease clog in the sink, really I can.  But is it seriously necessary to shatter glasses to get your point across?  Hiding things even though you know I need them, just to watch me chase my tail trying to find them?

Now this."  I spun in a circle taking in the entire room.

"What I truly don't understand is why now?  Why did you have to wait until I was home full time again?  Is that it, then?  Are you trying to tell me that I'm not doing enough now that I don't have to go to work anymore?

You know that I love you.  You know that I would do anything for you because my happiness of course depends on yours.  Still, if you want me to give you have to give too.  And this, well this is the last straw."

"Do you see this?"  I asked, holding out a paper envelope in supplication.  "This is a pattern.  For a costume.  For the school musical.  And because I need to sew two, preferably by the end of this week, I haven't got time to play these nonsense games.  Yet instead of trying to help, you are making it harder for me.  These childish tantrums have got to stop.  So, do you think you could turn the power back on in here?  In the sewing room?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Yes, friends, I'm afraid it's true.  I finally had to have "that" conversation.  With my house.  Because apparently I'm not the only one having "issues" these days.  Oh, I know what she wants.  She is a woman after all (why do you think "maison/house" is feminine?)  And just lately she's been throwing a hissy fit that rivals me at my finest.  Or not finest, depending on where you are standing when it happens...at least I usually go outside when I want to break stuff.

 

Seems we are at an impasse, she and I.  She thinks she has the upper hand by doing something so that suddenly there is no power to my sanctuary, but I have her number.  Like I said, she's a woman.  She wants to be made up and feel pretty and sexy, and she's willing to withhold favors to get what she wants.  Funny, she's like 85 years older than I am so you'd think she would know better, but some women never learn.

 

I think it might be war.  She seems to forget that nothing happens to or for her unless I do it or push for it.  And she chose to mess with the wrong stiletto wearing zookeeper's wife.

 

I'm moving the sewing machine back to the dining room. And those costumes will bygod be made.  If she doesn't straighten her as...sets out she can forget about the face lift in the living room that I was planning for the spring.

 

Don't mess with me, house.  Because I will win...