Cargo Pants

When I  woke up this morning, I felt fine.  He didn’t come home until about three hours later than he said he would but that was o.k. by me!!!   As I lay in bed all by myself, I thought, I don’t need chocolate for breakfast.  I’m fine.  I think I can make it through the day without chocolate.

When he came home, I thought, I’m o.k.  I can do this.

I asked how his mom was.  He said she was doing well this morning.  Good.

But then it was how many time she had gotten up by herself, how she was able to get up and use the toilet by herself, what she had for breakfast, how he made grits in the microwave – in minute detail.  And I couldn’t stand it anymore.

Don’t misunderstand me.  His mom is a very sweet lady and I do care about her and I hate it that she has to go through all of this.  This isn’t about his mom.  This is about the sheer tediousness of the “conversation.”

I came in the bedroom and scarfed (do people still use that word) down handfuls (o.k., small handfuls) of semi-sweet chocolate chips (my drug of choice).

When I went back into the kitchen, I kept thinking about what I would like to talk about.  I don’t really want to talk about our relationship anymore.  For two reasons: one, it doesn’t do any good, and, two, I don’t want the relationship to be about that the relationship doesn’t work!!!!

And we have nothing in common.

I can’t tell him about the things on my mind.  And I don’t want to risk my interests or friends being insulted, which he may or may not do, but I have no way of knowing.

On another note…   A few posts back, I wrote about my  “sloppy clothes” that I wear around the house.  Very comfortable, but rather clownish.   I decided that instead of wearing men’s flannel pajama pants with my flannel shirts or t-shirts that I will wear cargo pants with my shirts.  I like cargo pants, they are comfortable, and I will not look quite as sloppy.  And I won’t be embarrassed if the UPS man comes to my door again.