Two different conversations within hours of one another. With two different realizations. And the same outcome. Anna must find within herself the strength, peace, and satisfaction to walk this path of life alone for a while longer.
A calm conversation. She listened. She doesn�t always understand, but she wills herself to heed the requests made of her, and, above all, to give back the same respect and integrity given to her.
A calm conversation. What do you need from me, she said, to make things more pleasant. To live more peacefully in the same house. To have an occasional conversation, without the harsh looks, the walking away, the cold shoulders. To acknowledge my contributions to the home and business. To assume responsibility for your personal tasklist. To help a little.
Mr. Lucky: I help all the time, and you never say thank you. I do the dishes and at least half the housework.
(Why he�s right. From time to time he picks up a dish or two and puts them in the sink. Or empties part of the dishwasher to get to his favorite cup. And he always rinses out the bowl and chopsticks he uses every day to eat his rice and cereal. The same bowl which has never seen a dishwasher. And he mows the lawn in the summer, and takes the trash from the kitchen cans to the garage � then to the curb twice a week.
She does just that little trimming, and weed-pulling, and gardening, and flower bed maintenance, and mulching and planting and removal of trash from the other dozen wastebaskets to the kitchen. And those trivial weekly tasks of cleaning and dusting and vacuuming and laundry and bed-changing and scrubbing and mopping and toilet cleaning and plant watering and bird cage care and general home maintenance and scheduling and being home for all maintenance and repair people, are nothing in comparison.)
Mr. Lucky: You never want to give me credit for all the work I did re-decorating the house.
(Correctamundo!! He took on the nasty, disgusting task of steaming the wallpaper border off in two bedrooms � and the wallpaper in three bathrooms and the kitchen. Why, he did such a great job that she was able to master the fine art of drywall repair in no time flat and, in one of the rooms, got to employ the faux finish known as stucco because the walls could not be repaired. And he primed the guest room and painted the trim around the foyer window.
Which only left the repair, priming and painting of the ceilings and walls and wood base trim of 23 rooms (including the 22 foot ones in the family room), 34 six panel and 8 bifold doors, the 4-inch fluted wood trim around 52 windows, 34 doors and eight entryways. And the carpentry, plumbing and electrical work. Why it only took three years.)
Mr. Lucky: I�m tired when I get home. You don�t work as many hours as I do. You�re here at home every day, relaxing and doing who knows what. I need to sit in my massage chair, and watch some TV. I�ll talk when I feel like it, or when you have something interesting to talk about.
(Why yes. While he�s at the office slaving away at sales, she�s here painting her nails and eating truffles in between doing payroll, human resources, accounts payable, accounts receivable, taxes, the fulfillment services for three mailing programs, and managing every project he sells. Why those software programs simply design themselves, clients never need phone calls, project management is a breeze, engineers come up with their own programming ideas, users train themselves, and clients? Why she never talks to them except to ask how everything is going. After all � there are bon-bons to eat, diaries to read, and letters to write. Where DOES the time go from 8:am to 6:pm when she�s sitting at that computer, forgetting to even eat lunch or take a drink of water.)
Mr. Lucky: You don�t appreciate how smart I am. I may be the smartest person you will ever meet. I don�t know anyone who is as smart as I am, in all the areas in which I am smart. Do you have any idea how small is the number of people who get 800�s on their SAT�s?
(ok, that may be paraphrasing�.what he said was he is the smartest person in the world because no one is as smart as he is, in as many areas in which smartness is measured.)
(Why he�s so smart he cannot remember what he did yesterday, or the names of friends he�s known for twenty years without looking it up on the computer. He doesn�t know where his prescriptions come from, or the name of his doctor. He doesn�t know what kind of car he drives, when the inspections are due or whether the plates are current. He doesn�t know how to use a saw. He cannot find his way from place to place � even with Mapquest directions in his hand. He ran out of gas and locked his keys in the car � twice while it was running - so often one year that he used up all the service calls available in the SuperPremium AAA membership.)
Mr. Lucky: The only reason I get irritated and short is in reaction to you. My reactions are always because of what you do and say. You think you�re smart, but you�re usually wrong, you give poor instructions, and you just expect me to do things without directions.
(No, that was not a paraphrase. But Anna is smarter than he thinks in at least one thing. You see she learned long ago not to ask for help anymore. After all, if she lived alone she�d have to do it herself, wouldn�t she, so why count on someone else.)
Mr. Lucky: And, by the way, I know at your age you really aren�t that interested in sex anymore but I want to start having it again. So I guess either you should participate or I can go get it elsewhere. Which would you prefer?
(Now THIS, poppets, is the very heart of the matter. The proverbial rock and a hard place. Because, while a refusal of conjugal relations keeps your status in the land of the Unfukd, it can be used against you in court.)
Mr. Lucky: And, by the way, I just filled a prescription for Viagra.
(shit)
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