Am I proud of what I’m about to share with you? No. Am I gonna share it with you anyway? Yes, yes I am.
Maybe my confession will work as some type of penance for my ultra-bitchy behavior yesterday. Probably not, but I’ll give it a shot anyway. I’ll preface this by saying that my hormones were raging, due to the monthly visitor that is so rudely knocking at my door with a gift basket of painful cramps, and water retention that has turned my lady hands into day old sausages. This is not an excuse. I’m merely setting the stage for the tale of my bratty behavior.
I hate you! Those are the words that I uttered to my partner of nearly a decade. Surely (you think) he has committed some atrocious and unforgivable act against me. Did he cheat? Did he drain our bank account to buy a life size replica of Han Solo? Did he take out a life insurance policy on me and hire a hit man? No, no, and no. Dude took away my “blankie”.
You must be thinking “What the hell are you talking about, Kim?”. I hardly know myself!
It should have been a perfectly lovely afternoon. We arrived at our favorite park on a beautiful afternoon with our pup in tow. There were clouds in the sky, but not the ominous kind. The sky was full of billowy, cotton-candy puffs. Who could be mad? As we unpacked, Derek began to play fetch with Lucy the dog, and I layed Derek’s “butt blanket” out on the grass. This “butt blanket” has been neatly folded on the driver seat since I met D. He’s a skinny guy with a bony butt, and he likes to keep it there as a cushion. I like to drink my coffee from one particular mug, and to be on time. He likes his “butt blanket”. I knew this,but I spread it out anyway, and began to read my shitty chick-lit book, with my trusty unsweetened iced tea in hand.
I could see the storm clouds brewing behind D’s eyes as he surveyed his displaced butt blanket, but I chose to ignore them. A few times, he offered up “Ya know, there’s another blanket in the toolbox”. I pretended to not hear him.
Things came to a head as I watched him retrieve the other blanket from the toolbox. My blood boiled as I witnessed him moving my book and tea onto the new, oil stained blanket. As he folded the butt blanket up and placed it back on the driver seat, I said “I hate you”. You hate me? At this point, I knew my crazy train had already left the station. I attempted to back up my indignation with arguments such as: “your butt blanket is more important than me/ clearly, you don’t care about me”.
We drove home in silence.
When we arrived home, Derek took me by the hand and led me to the couch. He propped up two pillows ,and instructed me to place my head on them. He then, laid my favorite snowman blanket over me, and tucked my feet into it, just the way I like it.
I murmured “I’m about to start my period”. He said, “I know”