I think there may be cause to file for a divorce on the grounds of mental cruelty. My hubby would have you believe that it is he who has had to endure days of mental torture but I think I can quite clearly illustrate what I have to endure from him on a daily basis.
I went to bed with a sore red chin the other night. I don’t get spots. Never really have. Very lucky, so I suppose I will get little sympathy from any zitty people when I tell you I woke up the next day, Sunday, with a very large spot on my chin.
My husband took one look at it and said ‘you can’t go out today, unless it is to go to church. They will pray for you. Everyone is accepted in church.’ A nice man would have pretended not to notice. I accept this would have been difficult given it was very large and red, so a caring man may have shown some sympathy with an ‘ohhh, you must be run down, rest while I make you a cup of tea’ but no! My hubby saw maximum pay back time for every time I have called him fat. He offered to make two cups of tea, one for me and one for my new friend. He suggested I name it. He did make me a lovely bacon and egg sandwich and said ‘you will need to break the yolk’. Of course his giggles at his own hilarity meant he was talking about the spot and not my egg!
Grounds enough for a separation – this relentless meanness, but he wasn’t done. Not by a long way. He suggested I sit out in the sun to ‘ripen the spot and bring it up like a volcano, ready to erupt’. He compared my spot to having a baby. He said I would soon reach dilemma stage:
Induce it: use a sterile pin and ‘break the water’
Natural Birth: let it pop all by itself
Assisted birth: squeeze it but that would risk bruising and tearing if done too soon or with too much force.
He really was on a roll. Arse! According to him I should now know what it is like to have big tits. ‘How so?’ I naively asked?
‘Because everyone will be looking at your spot and not you – just like big breasted girls get their tits spoken to’ (note the added attempt to insult because my tits are not big!)
He went on, advising I disguise it and of course he had several suggestions:
- A corn plaster to prevent catching it
- Paint it brown – so it looked like a beauty spot like Cindy Crawford has. Now if you think he was being kind suggesting I could look like Cindy Crawford, he had already pointed out earlier that I had transformed in the night into Nanny McPhee.
I tried saying it was a mosquito bite. I have terrible reactions to mossie bites and they turn into boil like mounds. Really horrible – a bit like my poor chin! Hubby howled at this defence. He said it was a common-or-garden spot, then after pondering this he decided spots that size were not all that common!
He tried to predict what it might do next: dissipate and spread and become flat and wide or get angry and pointy. I was getting angry and pointy.
This went on all day. I told him that by the morning my spot would be gone but he would still be fat. More hilarity when he dismissed this and asked if I could take a photo of the spot when I got up the next day as he was out early in the morning and wanted to see its development!
Every cloud has a silver lining. Today my poor little son was off colour. Why is it that children seem so much smaller when they are ill? I kept him off school and he lay very still and quiet for most of the day. Very unusual for him. The silver lining of course wasn't that he was quiet for once - it was that I had an excuse not to leave the house at all. Fortuitous given my spot had taken a turn for the worse. The greenish sickly glow was something hubby was quick to notice when he returned from work (and it wasn't my son he was looking at!). I am now convinced that it is my first grim mossie bite of the season - as my chin has followed the pattern of the bites I got on my legs this time last year when I arrived in
to embark on a new life! I have made it worse by listening to hubby and trying to squeeze it – You can’t squeeze bites! North Carolina
Of course hubby won't back down and the jibes have continued. He would maintain the mental cruelty was his for having to look at my chin. You may well sympathise with him given some of the mental images I may have left you with. I disagree. Well, I would, wouldn’t I? I need sympathy and instead he tortures me relentlessly! I think it is clear that my husband is a bad and mean man who is just not funny at all!