SWMBO returned from her short vacation. It was sweet: she missed me. Your Humble Servant is not made of stone; I was glad she was back.
Then, somewhere in the middle of the night, she insisted I get up to “deal with” the dog. Since I had just had several straight nights of uninterrupted sleep with the dog in the other room, I sleepily assessed this idea as “bullshit.” (Only in my head, mind…your humble servant is not suicidal).
The seemingly-hours-long, done-half-asleep argument that ensued involved SWMBO threatening every possible dire disaster while I slept, and actually claiming she was going to leave the house for the night.
She got as far as the car before she came back.
So, I am totally looking forward to going to bed tonight!
Two minutes of hate
Sometimes things drive me nuts. SWMBO, for one. And yes, it’s all about money, making for one of the most astonishingly mundane arguments possible. We’re special, yeh.
Argument du jour: we have a fucked-up financial arrangement because, well, we’re both financial idiots in different ways. Yadda yadda yadda, there’s about four and a half nickels in my bank account, and SWMBO has saved about some fairly impressive number of shillings since last year (enough for a used car, not enough for a new car, if we were so inclined, which we are not). How is it that the guy who earns more has no savings? Well, we have a fucked-up financial arrangement. I might actually be spending too much at Starbucks (where self-identifiying “hip” white people go for self-loathing!) or on my ridiculous crap (it’s pretty ridiculous), but I don’t think so. Whatever.
Actual argument involves hope of going on upcoming vacation. This right after somewhat unexpected repair bill, very expected inducement of me to pay a chunk of the new-furnishings bill (fair enough, I’m the manly breadwinner and the old things were pet-pissed once too often, but most straight men get as much enjoyment out of housing renovations as most women do out of esoteric audio components. Whatever, we fought about that too, paying only a part was as close as I ever get to “winning.”)
So that and other stuff this year is mostly leaving me slightly fiscally so-so. Nothing serious, I can pay the bills, but this isn’t the month I’m going to be heading down to the local pretentious music parts shop to buy a Paul Vo Moog Guitar or anything.
Okay, fine. Argue argue, I say that the vacation idea sounds nice, I can’t really, you know, pay for it. Then it gets ugly. Among my key failings: I’m apparently taking her out to too many expensive places, which is why we can’t afford this vacation. I’m apparently a real cheapskate, and if money is so tight, how will I afford to buy her something nice for upcoming Momentous Annual Commemoration with Expectation of Gift?
Then the good one: If money is so tight, why don’t I ask my relative of means for a loan?
What. The. Fuck.
Okay, remember, SWMBO has enough shillings on hand to pay for budgeted vacation several times over. I have enough to sorta pay, kinda, for elaborate gift or modest vacation, but not both. And it’s not like I’m about to come into much more cash in the near term. Work pays, but income doesn’t generally outpace expenses by much more than a small number of shillings per pay period.
So, for the discretionary combo-expense of vacation/demanded-present, SWMBO thinks I should go ask a relative for a loan. Yeah, no doubt the relative in question would pay up. But when the hell did that become the criteria?
Bonus points: argument fizzles out in evening, then boils back up well after my bedtime when we’re both lying in bed, and I’d like to get some sleep so I can get up on time so I can keep my job so I can fucking pay the bills.
So yeah, living under an on-ramp looks like a pretty good deal today.
It could be worse.
