Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 126840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 634(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 634(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
“You’re right, that was shitty,” he muttered.
“It was, but as I’ve mentioned, it’s happened before, even though I asked, not mean, not bitchy. Nicely. Courteously. Please keep that cabinet door shut, especially considering its position. You disregarded my request. More than once. What does that say about how you truly feel about me?”
“Baby, it’s just me being a guy.”
“No it isn’t. Not every man on this planet does whatever the fuck they want, thinking they’re…what? I don’t know. So hot a woman will put up with it?”
Which, truth be told, he was incredibly hot.
But not that hot (in my estimation).
No one was that hot.
I carried on.
“Hoping they’ll hook up with their mother who’ll take care of their ass until they die? It isn’t the cabinet. It’s that and the light and the laundry and having to clean up after you and your friends. It’s asking you to separate the cutlery when you put it in the dishwasher, that is, when you put anything in the dishwasher, because it’s easier to put away, but you never bother. And requesting you recycle, and I find recyclables in my garbage.”
His face was flushing.
“Okay, seriously, I know this is gonna make me sound like a dick, but I’m honestly not trying to be a dick when I say, if it means so much to you, and it doesn’t to me, then you can do it yourself and not give me hassle, because it’s not important to me.”
“No, Bryan. See, this is the thing,” I retorted. “I am not going to spend any more time, much less consider a long-term relationship, or I should say a longer-term one, and commit to a man who cannot perform minor considerations simply because he values the person he’s spending time with. I’m asking you to close a cabinet. I’m asking you to put a bottle in a different bin that is right beside the garbage bin. I’m asking you to shove a fork in a certain slot. I’m asking you not to make insignificant promises, that are still promises, that you’re not going to keep, and I have to deal with the consequences. That’s all I’m asking. And you’ve demonstrated repeatedly you can’t do these things. So we are done.”
He lifted his hands in front of him in an “I give up,” gesture.
“All right, baby, I get it. I see now how important this stuff is to you. I’ll get on it. I mean that.”
“And then what, Bryan? You’ll be”—I did air quotation marks—“good for a while, and then we have this conversation again? We’ve been there before. It doesn’t last. Or, because I made it clear your inaction has repercussions, you’ll note these things, and do better, but then something else will come up, I’ll share, you won’t pay it any heed, and I’ll have to get fed up to the point I need to do something extreme to get your attention, and only then I’ll get your attention? Is this the cycle you want to land on me? Is this how you want me to live?”
He was stuck, considering that was where he’d put himself, so to that, he just screwed up his mouth and remained silent.
I didn’t return that favor.
“Why do you get the girlfriend who folds your clothes when you leave them in my dryer, and rushes to court to bring you a new tie when you’ve spilled lunch on the one you were wearing? And looks after your dog when you’re in Vegas with your buds? And bakes cookies for your boss’s birthday to buy you points? Then I sit down to dinner with him and charm him when my family was having a get together and I wanted to be with them. But you were my guy, that was important to you, so I did my face and hair and put on an appropriate dress and sat at your side. And the man liked me so much, he told you to marry me and offered me a job. Why do you get that woman, and I get a man who doesn’t listen to me until I feel the need to shout, either literally or figuratively? The man who thinks he can decide for the both of us what’s important, and what’s not, deeming my wishes unimportant, then deigning to acquiesce to them, still thinking they’re petty, when they aren’t? They’re my wishes. So they matter.”
The cookie timer went off.
I moved to the oven, peered in, then opened the door, took them out and put the tray on a hot pad on the counter.
I returned my attention to Bryan.
He was staring at the cookies.
What he wasn’t doing was addressing my concerns in any real way.
“I’m sorry, Bryan, but I’m done talking, and I am because I’ve said all this before in one way or another, and you didn’t bother to hear me. If you don’t mind, I’d like to get on with my night. So if you could leave my key and then grab your box and go, I’d appreciate it.”