I got a dreadful call from the courthouse the other day. We have to go back and start all over again. The person handling our case took a leave of absence without finishing her documentation.
All that drama for nothing. I am so disappointed.
I called the courthouse to express my disillusionment at the fact DH will get a second chance to make a false impression. Maybe there was a thing or two he would have preferred to have omitted.
I mean, he couldn't really be stupid enough to repeat all those things he said before, could he? This can only mean I must be extra astute in pushing DH's buttons during our interview. I'm generally quite skilled at this.
The other day, it took only a single question about his relationship with the Work Ho to set him off. It sent him into such a wild rage I thought for sure some major blood vessel in his body would burst.
He reminded me - in language festooned with much profanity - that this had been my plan from the beginning.
To marry a psycho loony nut? Be verbally, emotionally, and financially abused? Have a baby - only to be kicked out of the house 5 weeks postpartum? Have to be supported by my parents, while struggling to ensure my baby escapes the evil clutches of a man gone mad?
What a brilliant plan I had! Saw right through me, he did.
And what's worse, my mom was in on the whole thing. She wanted a grandbaby, complete with child support payments. What a wicked woman.
Then there is my dad, who financed the whole scheme. Paid for the wedding, simply so I could put my plan into action. That was a very naughty thing to do.
I suggested he invest in a good psychiatric evaluation. I can't say for sure, but he may not have take this comment to heart.
I fear that I may have, in response to his raving tizzy, emitted a less-than-stiffled giggle or two. One of the side effects of remaining calm against DH's onslaughts, is that it gives my mind the clarity to find humor in the insanity of his words.
Lest I give the impression of DH being a total monster, please know that he did call the next morning to wish me a fine day.
And the next evening to tell me he loved me and was deeply regretful that he had not done a good enough job at being a husband.
And the evening after that to tell me good night.
He even told me again that I was pretty.
See, that makes up for his tirade just a bit, doesn't it? I will just sit by the phone, then, and await his next explosion of rage. It should be arriving any day now.