skibigsky's Diaryland Diary

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Where I bitch and moan some more.

It’s a damn good thing I’ve got a doctor’s appointment tomorrow. My allergy-aggravated sinuses are crushing my skull, I’m exhausted, and I’ve still got the albatross of a sick husband to deal with.

No. Tell us what you really think, Ski.

Yeah. Um. I love my husband dearly, but HE SUCKS AS A SICK PERSON. At least this time, he has followed my (the doctor’s actually) injunction to stay in bed for a week. And he’s got 2 more days. But in the meantime, I’ve been dealing with everything, including getting the Mini to a body shop to fix some work that had been inadvertently (and unbeknownst to us) done to the car that might take it out of stock class. My co-driver met me at the body shop, and explained things (since I don’t know, and frankly, don’t want to know…) to the guy who’d be fixing it. Nifty. I though it was all done; I’d hand over the credit card, my co-driver would pick up the car next Monday, and life would be cool.

Except that I get this call from the general manager today, talking about some other stock parts, and I say yes, order them (they’re like, $50, and given the cost of this adventure, is essentially meaningless). Mr. V., getting a massage (our relationship with our massage people is ANOTHER story I’ve got to get to, because my patience with them has gone to 0) freaks out because I tell the guy to order the parts, without conferring with Mr. V. (who doesn’t talk on the phone when he’s getting a massage). Apparently Mr. V. thinks that the body shop guy wants to do bad things to the mini, and he’s in a lather because the guy ‘doesn’t understand’ what we want. Uh. That’s why my co-driver (who knows car stuff) was there. If the body shop guy didn’t understand the instructions, it’s NOT MY FAULT. Especially since all I did was tell the guy to order some parts. Maybe we don’t need them, but was it better to hold up progress on the car until sometime tomorrow, or at least get the guy on the project. Apparently, I did wrong.

But…. The guy isn’t going to work on the car at 7am tomorrow morning. There is plenty of time to talk to him before work begins. I bet we can even return the parts, if they really had been ordered. And nothing heinous is going to happen to the car before the boys can talk to the body shop guy.

But Mr. V. freaked out at me, in front of our massage people. Since I’m not too keen on them at the moment anyway (more on that in a bit), it pissed me off further. If it is 6:30pm, there is no way ANYTHING is going to happen to the car before 8am the next day. To yell at me, in front of people who irritate the fuck out of me, only further irritates me.

Yep. Call me old-fashioned. I don’t believe in shouting at your spouse in public. Mr. V. seems to think that it is a tool for getting what he wants. Typically, I don’t care, because it’s not an issue. We don’t have big disagreements in public. But I don’t like being yelled at in front of people that I don’t respect. Childish, perhaps, but it makes me feel like I’ve lost face. And I don’t like being put in that position.

So. About the massage therapy people. They are a young married Mormon couple. All of which is fine. I may not agree with their beliefs, but I don’t agree with my brother’s pseudo-paganism, either, so it’s not a religious thing. And I have generally liked this couple. They are very good massage therapists, and seemed like good people. And frankly, I’m sure they are.

But when the young wife, who has been perpetually ill, anyway, got pregnant, she went a little bitchy. Fine. It’s hormonal. Mr. V. was going to help these ‘kids’ (they are younger than I am, hence the ‘kids’ term) buy their first house. We liked them, and wanted to help them. They came over to the house to talk real estate, and when Mr. V. told them that they didn’t have all the information that he needed, she flipped on him, going in to super-bitch mode; he told her that she didn’t have all the information that he needed, and she went into diatribe about what he told her they needed. Fine, so far. Miscommunications happen. Mr. V., not being in a good mood, told her (and I quote loosely) to back off and not be so bitchy. She then told him to not speak to her in that manner, and that she wouldn’t deal with him. And if she had been low-key about this, I would have been fine. But she got extremely aggressive about it all, demanding that he listen to her complaints, and that if he was going to be grouchy, so could he. And went off on him about being in a bad mood.

Sorry, dear. Harsh reality of life. And this is obnoxious, I know, but true. If someone has the money and skills to help you out, you suck up a few personality traits if you want their help. If you want to prove that you are ‘independent spirit’ then great. But if you think that we are going to keep looking at you as people involved in a therapy program, you are being a bit too generous. And if you think that as a 20-something, you are going to tell a 50-something how to behave, in his own house, you are expecting too much (not to mention the whole telling another woman’s husband ‘how’ he should ‘behave’). And if you think that you have a ‘greater way of living’ that you MUST impart on others, think again. You might believe that your beliefs are supreme to all others, but you’ve also got to accept that not everyone is going to agree with you. And while you can disagree with your friends, you don’t want to disagree with people who might invest with you.

So, I was on the sidelines, and thought, “Okay, leave. We are doing you a favor. If you have the balls to tell someone how to behave in their own house, then feel free to leave.” And yeah, maybe that is callous. But I CANNOT comprehend the concept of telling someone that is paying you that they are Wrong.

And if you do that, fine. Just don’t be surprised when I don’t want to ever deal with you again. The husband is fine, but the wife has this ‘holier-than-thou’ attitude that pisses me off. And I can deal with him without issue. But her presence rankles me. I needed a massage today, but she has so irritated me that I don’t want her in my house, and certainly don’t want her to touch me.

Am I a temperamental ‘client’? Maybe. But I don’t want someone coming in to my house and telling my husband how he should behave. (And he agrees. He’s just more forgiving, and in more need of a massage that I am.)

Eh. Mr. V. yet again proves to be a better man than I. I can’t stand the wife and don’t want her at my house, right? Well, she’s pregnant, so his response is that because we have a cat with multiple litter boxes, we can’t risk having a pregnant woman come in contact with a potential exposure to toxoplasmosis. I love the way this man thinks!!!!

Yeah. I’m a bitch. I can’t help it. I’m just a non-confrontational bitch. Which is good, or bad, depending on how you look at it….