I don’t know if anyone else feels this, but I have a husband who never, ever, ever takes any of my suggestions on.
We’ll be in the car — he’s driving, I’m a passenger princess. He’ll ask, “Which way should we go home?” WHATEVER way I say, he chooses the opposite every single time. In frustration, I told him not to ask. His retort? “It’s nice to ask.”
Nice to ask — and then what, completely fucking disregard my reply?
So I said: for future reference, I don’t find that a conversation. If that’s all he’s got to say to me, I can survive without it.
But here’s the kicker. He comes home and announces that one of his colleagues has recommended Killing Eve. I’m already four seasons in, fully invested. I suggested it as communal viewing ages ago — but that man does not have the capacity to move from Dave and Dave Catch Up!
Now suddenly he’s ready to explore a new genre of TV. Not because of me, no. It’s because Paul from work really knows him and “gets” him. So of course he’s going to give it a go.
Apparently, the opinion of the woman he chose to spend his life with and have children with doesn’t count.
And just to make it extra fun? His new “advisor” at work is a woman.
He was talking about her in front of me and our son. He said she was really kind for arranging some work experience for my son. “She’s so nice, she lives down the road. I’ve got her a box of chocolates to give her, and then I’m going to buy a bottle of blush rosé tequila. She went on a trip with her sisters and mum, and that’s what they were drinking — she said she really enjoyed it.”
We have known each other for 30 years, and he still fucks up my tea!
So I decided to have fun with it and whispered to my 17-year-old: “She’s your new mum.”
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