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Because I can't bear to eulogize Doug - 2008-08-19
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9:01 a.m. - 2005-08-06
Got my head cropped yesterday. My hair had grown out so much it had gone past unkempt and into being good looking again. Isn't that funny how that happens? I noodged Zee into mowing it all off though. I need, need, need super short hair right now. I'm the anti-Sampson, the shorter my hair is the more powerful I feel. My health has really been lousy and I'm thinking a strong hairdo will help buck me back up. We are midst a marital power struggle here at Casa Sage and I need all the armor I can muster. It started innocently enough. Wolf is…um…fascinated by boobs. My boy's mammary fixation rather threw me for a loop. For Pete's sake, the kid just turned 8! So I consulted Mike about it. What do I know from what little boys' passions? Mike grinned and said Wolf was A-okay. Mike admitted he'd had a honking huge thing for Raquel Welch when he was Wolf's age. Sophia Loren too. Ohhh-kay. So my kid wasn't a precocious perv. Fine and dandy. But Mike and Raquel Welch? Huh? Since when did my husband appreciate the generous curves of real women? I thought on it some, then asked Mike when had he changed his mind about liking vavoomy chicks? People, the man stood there in my kitchen and insisted he'd never changed his mind! He insisted his 'type' was the lush and curvaceous! It's a wonder I didn't stroke out right there and fall down stone dead on the kitchen floor. How could he possibly say something like that? To me? Who was he trying to kid? Mike had spent the last 23 years telling me: a) what an ugly cow I am, b) insulting my breasts, c) going out of his way to show me how unappealing and gross he thinks I am by both word and deed, d) hiding me from view and refusing to acknowledge me in public like I'm the Elephant Woman and he'd only married me on a drunken bet. He's spent more than 2 decades making me feel like shit. Furthermore I have been witness to his foolish grinning at, fatuous complimenting of, and monster wood over size 0 bony, flat chested, hip-less, squeaky toy females. The stuttering argle-bargle that pours from my taciturn husband's mouth when he's around some twit who looks like she's barely 11 years old and 2 birthdays away from a training bra has been the most soul sucking, humiliating thing I've ever had to endure. And endure it I have for more than 20 years. And he has the fucking NERVE to stand there and tell me he thinks full bodied goddess types are his preferred dish? Oh, hell no. I went nuts. Sincerely. I went off! Told him everything I just told you. I cited examples. I called him on his self-delusional bullshit but good. He was not allowed to lie to me or himself. No fucking way. How DARE he? He's been holding my (oversized) feet to the flames of shame since I was 19 years old. I've been made to feel huge and ugly and unfeminine and gross. I've had to scrabble for whatever tiny bits of self-esteem I could gather from outside validation, because I sure as hell wasn't getting any comfort or compliments at home. The upshot? Mike hasn't spoken to me for 2 days. Either pissed off or sulking, I care not which. Nor am I going to let this shake out as it always has, he'll 'punish' me for another day or two and then start talking again as if nothing happened. And I'm supposed to fall all over myself with gratitude that he's 'forgiven' me. Well that crap doesn't work anymore. Nuh uh. Nothing is going to get swept under the rug of his passive-aggressive controlling shit. His silent sulking doesn't scare me anymore. All it's doing now is making him look infantile and mean. And cowardly. This David in Goliath clothing is readying her slingshot and I'm going to bring that motherfucker down. Standing tough and taking aim, ~LA
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