This week’s first line: “Well, I didn’t want tea anyway.”
Her statement was accompanied by the pouring of the tea down the sink. We had argued again. It wasn’t uncommon for us to argue these days. It seemed like one thing after another triggered disagreement.
She had long complained that I didn’t pay her enough attention. I didn’t like her criticism and made every effort to meet her at least half way.
I did things for her, fetched and waited on her hand and foot. But that was never enough.
When I tried to be physically attentive to her she’d ask why I was doing that and why couldn’t I be attentive all the time.
Living with her was hard work. Nothing was ever right. No gift was received with any sort of gratitude but more with claims it wasn’t big enough or didn’t I know her well enough to know she wouldn’t like that or it wasn’t her colour.
So, I sacrificed more and more of my time to her. I cooked and served her dinner when she came home late. She liked to stay back at work and get her preparation done the next day.
I never liked the meals bit as they were often fraught with danger, I hated cleaning the floor after she’d thrown her dinner there in disgust at what I had prepared.
She wanted to go on a holiday so we chose the place she most fancied and off we went. But that proved problematical as well. She rejected my advances saying why would I be romantic on holiday and not at home, and it turned out she disliked the place after the first day. There were too many flies during the day and mosquitos at night.
Getting home was such a relief.
Then the final straw came when she fell ill and I nursed her, called the doctor, tended to her medical needs and sat up the first night with her as she threw up every forty minutes for the entire night.
In the morning, she felt better and I made her breakfast which she turned her nose up at before screaming at me when I poured her some tea: “Well, I didn’t want tea anyway.”