It’s been a strange weekend.
First, on Saturday morning, we went to buy a tree. We chose one and had it delivered. It fitted perfectly.
I left him to it. I did ask if he wanted help but he said no. The strange thing is that we can do certain things together but for other things, we just don’t rub along. In this way he reminds me of my father, for whom I could never do anything right; I was never ready with the correct tool or correct thing; it was boring because I wasn’t actually allowed to “do” anything. With F, this is much the same. So, as last year, I left him to it.
But, obviously, that wasn’t quite right either.
After some time, I heard a load of expletives and so I went to look. Apparently the adapter, for the lights, was broken and, worse, he couldn’t get the broken one out of the socket. I started to suggest something but, as usual, he talks over me so I shut up. Then we have the usual “go on then …. say what you were going to say …”
I made a suggestion. I went to get the screwdriver. I asked if I should do it. He, grumpily, moved out of the way and, within 2 seconds I had removed it.
Of course, we didn’t have another. I offered to go and find one.
Now, here’s the thing about Italian plugs and sockets. They can be very different. Some plugs have two pins and some three (in a line, not like the UK) and sometimes the pins are “fat” and sometimes “skinny”. The fat ones seem to be on the larger electrical items (fridges, cookers, washing machines, etc.)
So, we needed and adapter with thin pins which allowed both thin pinned plugs and fat pinned plugs to be connected – like the broken one.
Off I went, carrying the broken one because I needed to find the same type. I went to three supermarkets and managed to find one which only allowed thin pinned plugs to be connected. Then I went to one of the Chinese shops and found one which did allow fat pins to be connected – but one of the fat pinned sockets was with a special “round” extension that didn’t allow all fat pinned plugs to be connected.
It was no good.
I said I would take the dogs out and have a look on the way.
I found another Chinese shop and got another adapter which was possibly going to work. Then I found a hardware store. The guy gave me an adapter – like the first one I bought, only for thin pinned plugs. i explained that i needed it for both types. He told me they didn’t make them any more (which explained why I couldn’t find them) and gave me a single converter for thin to thick pins. I said OK then I have both and plug the converter into the adapter. He said this was wrong/bad/ something similar – but sold them to me anyway.
Obviously, this worked. And we only have the lights on when we’re there, so it’s OK.
The tree looks lovely.
That night he had the shop Christmas meal.
The next day, after breakfast, I did some cleaning things. He said he wanted to reorganise the kitchen cupboards “because I can’t find anything.” He had mentioned this the day before and suggested something to which I had said OK. This time, he opened one cupboard and queried why some pans were at the top of the cupboard and some in the drawer. I explained (I thought) that I’d already tried that but, because the drawers were not fixed to the wall, the extra pans made the whole thing to heavy and it fell forward when you opened the drawer.
But, it seems that to his ears I was saying that I didn’t like the idea! Or, at least that’s what I guess.
Then he started on a rant about how everything is always done the way I want it. I said that it wasn’t true but he stops listening when he’s “on one.” So I shut up. Then I get how all English people are the same and just stay quiet followed closely by how selfish I am which is followed by how everything has to be done as I like which is followed by how the washing is always done when I want. The logic of all this escapes me. I laugh, for what else should I do? This is insane. Obviously, the laugh was in frustration but, possibly, the worst thing I could do.
So that was that.
I continue my polishing of the silver and doing the washing. We didn’t speak for the rest of the day. I watched a film; he watched a film. He went out.
He came back. “I’ve bought you some cakes. Well, obviously, they’re not all for you.” I thank him. I put them in the kitchen.
I ask, a little later, if he wants something to eat. He doesn’t. I take a shower and ask, again, if he’s sure. He says no, he’s still full from last night. I make myself some pasta, eat it and have one of the cakes. I go to the bedroom and thank him.
All other “conversation” is me telling him what I’m doing. Which is only when necessary. I try not to be angry but it’s hard. His argument still makes absolutely no sense to me. It has no merit or logic! I absolutely did not say that stuff had to be in a certain place, I just said that making the drawer too heavy meant that it would fall over when you opened it! I just don’t get it and realise that, in so many ways, we are so different. But, as I say, once he starts, there’s simply no speaking to him. I tire of it and I don’t want it. If I hadn’t been in the middle of cleaning the silver, I think I would have gone out. Next time, I probably will.
I realise that the cakes were some kind of peace offering but it’s just not good enough.
And, then again, I try to be somewhat sympathetic. After all, the thing with PaC and his aunt dying earlier ……..
I have a feeling that, this morning, he may have re-done all the kitchen cupboards anyway. We shall see.
In the meantime, life goes on. I don’t feel like going down to Carrara now. I want to say to him that I won’t go. And, then again, I think, perhaps, how miserable he feels and, so, I won’t say anything, of course.