So Husband has taken to insisting that he is the Queen. Even going so far to name himself such on our Ragnar relay team page. He claimed the title on my blog. He has always liked the phrase: “All ways are MYYY ways” from Disney’s Alice in Wonderland.
I’ll admit, he does have some rather queenly behaviors, but let’s face it: There is only one Queen in this household, and it ain’t him.
I will take my most compelling evidence from the film “The Young Victoria.” There is a scene where she is taking her husband, Prince Phillip to task for undermining her authority in public. She is getting rather heated in her attempts to dress him down, at which he replies, “You are in no state to discuss this now. I am going to go to bed and leave you to your fuming.” Her response is to yell at his back as he was leaving, “You cannot leave! I am the Queen! You will address me when I am speaking to you!”
Husband and I have had this exact discussion numerous times. I’m yelling at him and he stares blankly at me before turning around and leaving the room.
See? Not a Queen!
He does spend a lot of time grooming his feet.
And his clothing.
And when he travels he takes a different pair of shoes for every day of the week.
And he won’t eat leftovers.
Or whole pieces of chicken.
I have graciously bestowed the title of Duke upon him, which he was quite content with for many many years. I can’t imagine why he would feel the need to creep in to my territory and steal my throne.
I just don’t get it.
And then there’s the real issue:
I’m a woman. But I feel like I am loved despite my womanhood, rather than because of it. It might equate to me loving Husband despite the gay rather than because of it.
So because my womanhood is so under-utilized, I feel a strong desire to defend anything feminine. Mr. Gay Boy has marginalized enough of my femininity, I can’t let him take the title along with it.
Which brings me to sex. (It always comes back to this, doesn’t it?)
Every. Single. Month. after my “feminine cycle” I have a few days of intense desire. (I’m trying to be discreet, so pardon the nauseating verbiage.) Intense desire in our situation is not necessarily welcomed. We just plain don’t know what to do with it. We do have a policy of talking to each other about it so it doesn’t go unchecked and run rampant and cause undue harm, but that eventually leads to disappointment. I mean, “hey honey, I’m needing some fulfillment (nudge nudge).” “Oh, how nice for you dear. What’s for dinner?”
We have tried to devise some creative solutions, but let’s face it: it isn’t quite the priority for him that it is for me. He gets tired at night and falls asleep. I’m not a morning person. I feel ridiculous asking in the first place. Inevitably I end up depressed and despondent and questioning my value and my sanity at the same time. But knowing this is coming every month like clockwork, why do I continue the cycle?
I’ll admit, there is some tiny spark of hope that maybe- just this once- there will be some crazy miracle that manifests itself in his desire for me. (and tell me that I’m not an optimist! go ahead!)
We haven’t even scratched the surface of his unmet needs. The thought that we are one step into the sauna away from it all falling apart is not far enough from the forefront of my mind. It no longer consumes me, but it threatens to. It’s no way to live.
I keep telling him that his deal is his deal, and my deal is mine, but the temptation to shove all of the responsibility on him is just too great to withstand sometimes. Okay, well, most of the time. He is so GOOD at making me happy, it has become second nature to just hand it all over to him. Besides, he really is quite good at making decisions. Most of the time.
I let my cleaning lady go last week.
The last time she was here, I was shuffling kids out the door, and had just put my shoes and jacket on to follow them. When I came in to say goodbye and to pay her, she looked at my shoes, and made a rude comment.
Well, it wasn’t THAT rude. More of an observation, really. But un-called for nonetheless.
That wasn’t the whole reason I fired her. She did a pretty crummy job of cleaning too. But her being nice on the exterior but rotten underneath made it just a bit easier to do the deed. The only reason I kept her so long was because I completely hate to clean my house. It isn’t so much the cleaning in and of itself, it’s the anxiety that leads up to it. It’s unreal. But now I’m back to being the maid. And planning to manage the build up better than in the past.
It was a year ago that Husband hired a cleaning lady for me. I was in the mental hospital. He also arranged for #2 son to have a place to go two days a week so I could decompress.
Today is cleaning day. Do you see where I am? Blogging. You’ll probably see a pretty consistent Friday blog post for that very reason. Consistency is good, right?
Thanks for listening to more of my incessant rambling.
Can’t wait ’til next time, I’m sure!