As an adult, being told you’re a child is some pretty fucked up shit. I suppose if you want to be an adult about the whole thing you can observe the situation from an overhead perspective and determine whether or not your behavior merits modification. This isn’t that though.
This is a story about passive-aggressive responses to perceived inabilities of others to acknowledge their part in damaging/harmful/hurtful situations and and the calamitous fallout.
Once upon a time in a bathroom far, far away…
“Did you just masturbate in the shower?” I said to my husband. “Yes, is that a problem?” he replied.
Ordinarily, fiddling your own flute doesn’t bother me in the slightest. Tugging your member while Wham plays gently in the background should be every mans solemn right. But on this night, it was different. There were unaccounted for variables that set the trajectory of the next few days into utter chaos.
Variable #1) Pornhub – *should be noted that it’s not an unforgivable or un-redeemable feature attraction, just marked as peculiar when taken into full context. I, too, have been known to peruse the free selections available there from time to time.
Variable #2) An available wife – *should be noted that said wife was in the kitchen preparing her horny husband dinner. Had said wife been made aware of intent/desire to fuck, dinner could have and would have been paused.
Variable #3) Request made to discuss the matter – *after careful and delicate consideration, a formal request was made to address the issue and ask preliminary questions while also allowing for discourse on how said wife’s feelings were impacted. THIS is where shit gets hairy.
It took this motherfucker 39 goddamn hours to sit down on the couch across from me and mutter the words, “do you wanna talk?”
Pretty certain that’s what the legal sheet of paper affixed to the front door 39 motherfucking hours ago indicated – pretty succinctly, I might add! Was “until we talk this through, I don’t really have much to offer you” too ambivalent? Help me understand how it is that you are so unclear on the concept, Captain Conundrum.
Let me back up the angry train up for my readers (all 3 of you):
- He read the letter.
- He told me he needed time to respond.
- This is a repetitive pattern, kind of like pulling your dick or flicking your bean.
- I need time = where resolution goes to die.
- I’m not even angry about jerking off, I’m angry I’m on hold again, although I’d still like clarification. I WAS IN THE NEXT ROOM!! I’D TOTALLY AT LEAST GIVE YOU A BLOW JOB.
- He’s now angry at me for having questions and for “body shaming” by saying I “feel” (completely intentional word selection) like he made a choice with me there which, in turn, negatively affects my self-esteem. *word to the wise men…do not mansplain body shaming to women, it will not end well for you.
Am I on a good one? You bet your ass I am!
We sit down to have a conversation and I’m aghast at the lack of responsibility being taken. He’s totally on the defensive, like I’m his mom and walked in on him masturbating with just his socks on. I’m his partner and I’d like to help. Mostly because I’m a selfish bitch and I get something out of it, too. Why should you get to have all the fun? What if I wanted to get off too? What if making dinner isn’t my idea of a good fucking time? What if shower sex is far more enjoyable than sausage and potato skillet meal with corn on the cob? Wow, did that meal description just make anyone aroused? I’m a bit turned on if I’m being honest.
Sausage. Sausage and potato skillet meal. Corn on the cob. Cob. Maybe if I enunciate and slow it all down. S-a-u-s…nevermind, I’m going to go take a shower.
Ok, and we’re back!
Anyhow, I stood up for myself and said I felt gaslit to which he replied that I was a child. Nice, dicknose.
He approaches the tee, swings, strikes the ball and…it’s in the sand. Good luck getting it out of there! He goes back for a 2nd attempt, squares off on the ball, and calls it a child again. Ouch, that’s gonna hurt. Just dug yourself in deeper, bro.
Ultimately what this does is undermines my confidence, again. I’m preparing for school in a couple of weeks and have doubts now about my abilities. Am I competent? Can I cut the mustard? Maybe I am a child.
What I didn’t do was retaliate. I had no use for further name calling. I owned my bullshit behavior, barring the writing of this little story, of course. I admitted being insecure, having low-self esteem, being passive-aggressive and co-dependent. It was then that I said, “but I’m not a child” and walked away, understanding that nothing good was going to come from this conversation.
As I left he said, “See? You are a child.”
Children act out in the weirdest ways. They cry, they scream, they throw things and bite. Sometimes, they write scathing details of the accounts of their relationships. They just do the darndest things; quirky little buggers.