Ninapintasantamaria's Blog

{December 14, 2008}   Communication

Okay, so my husband and I decided this week that we were only going to do Christmas for each other this year, since we’re broke.  Easy enough, right?  Yeah, not so much.  We went shopping today, and he forces me to go and buy good smelly stuff at the bath and body store.  I thought this was part of my gift, and while I like it, it’s not something I wear every day.  I can’t, you see, cause I’m a nurse, and sick people are often made sicker by smells.  Even if it’s good smells.  Trust me, you don’t want to see the results.  Typically results in procuration of a mop by some harried soul from the housekeeping dept.  We go to “climb into bed” this afternoon, and he tells me suddenly that he’s turned off now because I didn’t put on the perfume he bought me today.  I’m confused, as this has never been a problem before.  I tell him so, and ask him why he didn’t communicate this requirement earlier?  He then goes into this long dissertation (read bitch session) about how I read into everything else, so he thought I would have figured it out that he wanted me to wear it today.  I told him that my “reading” powers only applied to catastrophe diversion, and that I didn’t think a “session” would require that, as it never had before.  I mean, I don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.  If he’s going to buy me a gift, I’m not going to be picky.  When I said “forced,” I meant that I came out of the store not having purchased anything because of the “broke” situation and he told me to go back in and pick something out.  And, as far as my reading into things, I’ve told him many times that I simply can’t let him sink the ship and cheer him on while it’s going down.  If I see him doing something stupid, or possibly life threatening, I have to say something and try to divert disaster.  I’ve had enough bad luck, lately, and am just trying to catch the other shoe, as it were.  Sorry, just my nature, I guess.  He classifies this as “giving him attitude” or “bitching.”  I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do, quite frankly, since most men would be highly grateful that someone saved them from a terrible fate.  I guess he wants me to let him fall on his face, ruining my day right along with it, I don’t know.  I finally told him that a little communication from him earlier today would have circumvented the entire discussion, and to please note that for future reference.  I then got up (sans session, mind you, since he “wasn’t in the mood”), put on my bathrobe, and left him to entertain himself, I suppose.  I really don’t know.  I hope he chokes on the perfume next time.

et cetera