The Phone Rang...

For those of you who may read this blog who are related to eMiLy by blood, you could perhaps take issue with this post or others I've written. To you I say, live with her for 3 years and get back to me. Wait, and give up your master bedroom for 2 of those years. Then, we can sit down and talk. Until then...

It rang again. Don't touch it! It rang a third time.

It was her. She was coming over. Right now.

This may sound like gibberish to you, but I think I'm in a tragedy.

My reaction was of course a very calm one. I said to my beloved in a rather mild tone of voice...

Oh right, you know me better. I yelled.

Not now!

She couldn't...I mean we were just laying around, in our pajamas, eating and watching movies. We were enjoying ourselves! And there were dishes in the sink for goodness sake!

Undeterred by my whining he didn't call her back.

In spite of my tantrum she was on her way.

And, regardless of all my hard work in therapy, I began to clean.

I am ashamed to admit it, I even made the bed.

My husband then proceeded to walk out on the very thin ice of my emotional stability and without regard for his own safety began to jump up and down.

All the while mentioning something about calming down and it's no big deal. Oh and this one - she won't even notice.

*craaaaaaaaack*

Were we back to square one after all those many months?

Did he so quickly forget that my relationship with her hung on the very precipice of civility with enmity laid beneath like so many jagged rocks awaiting our unavoidable fall upon their inexorable unforgiving nature?

After a quick shower I walked into the living room towards the voices, applying a lovely smile to my face as I went in.


So Harold began to engage in small talk.
You have very straight teeth.
Thanks.
*Very* small talk.

We stood around uncomfortable in our conversation. It was, as the cliche states, like an itchy wool sweater - nice to see, but in reality very annoying to be in.

I decided to offer her a peace pipe, after all it is Christmas and I am supposed to be a grown woman.

The pipe was filled with tamales and fresh coffee.

We ate our tamales, drank our coffee and scratched our itchy egos.

Then, she stood up smiled and proceeded to throw the peace pipe into the fire. She began by putting away my clean dishes, thereby going through the cabinets and drawers, whereby she made comments about the contents of my cabinets and drawers.

Oh, you moved it around again. I never could find anything.

She looked in the refrigerator.

Dana always has so many leftovers.

She washed dishes.

I hear you make the kids wash the dishes now.

And she noticed I have a new (new to me) dishwasher.

Hmm. That's pretty. It even matches.

She looked at the dog food bowls and the floor and the counters and the bathroom and my room. And commented about it all.

Little did he know that this simple seemingly innocuous act would result in his imminent death.

These were all seemingly innocuous remarks. To everyone that is, except me.

To me they were the essence, the very bones of my past crucible. Dug up in disrespect for its passing, its eternal rest disturbed yet again. Disrespected and tossed aside like so much dirt and left there for all to see that the bones had been picked clean.

Left there to prove I had nothing left to give.

She left. I cried. My husband acknowledged the impropriety of her conduct. I forgave. I moved on. Kind of...

Well, that sounds like a comedy. Try to develop that.

*Quotes are from the movie Stranger Than Fiction. If you have not seen this movie, order it or borrow it or run out right now and rent no, buy it and watch it, repeatedly.

And thank God for Bavarian sugar cookies.