I never envisaged I would become a cowering husband, hen pecked and lowly. I feel like I spend most of my time walking on eggshells these days. I’d tried keeping my mouth shut, but Tanya would accuse me of keeping secrets. If I opened my mouth and expressed an opinion, I was accused of starting a fight, or trying to get one over on her.
It’s New Years Eve, we don’t go out to parties now, not since the fight she had with the barmaid at the pub. Tanya accused me of chatting her up, and then threw a glass at her. Cut the poor girl up really bad, just for asking if I wanted to buy a rose for my lady. Tanya doesn’t like me talking to other women I’m her geek, “her useless… fucking… geek…” that’s what she calls me, every word said in a way to puncture my self-esteem. I cower every time she says it.
“Are you a man or a mouse?” I’d ask myself in the mirror everyday. At first I would respond silently, after a while I didn’t bother with the question; I would silently, “squeak”. I tried to get away more than once I packed my bags and was ready to walk, but Tanya would cry, say she would try to treat me better this time, but she never did. Days after I could feel the tension building again. She would start by calling me spineless, and say no one else would have me, and I was lucky she let me stay. Then if I got delayed coming home from work, I’d be having an affair, mistreating and disrespecting her.
Tanya likes a drink, but she likes to be in control although her drinking never is.
She went into a bit of fury earlier tonight when I topped her glass up with wine, asked me if I was trying to get her pissed, so I could get in her knickers. “I’m wise to you!” she said as she sunk the glass I poured, and then poured herself another. Getting in her knickers is last thing on my mind right now; I’d be lucky to raise a smile where she’s concerned. So no more wine in case she keels over, that’s what she said, so I kept my promise, no more wine. Underlined it in my mind, then used my green highlighter; it didn’t stop her finishing the bottle and making a start on another though. She was quite specific no more wine, didn’t say nothing about no more anything else though.
She’s in the shower now, and I’m watching the clock, not for the New Year count down, but watching to see if the thud of her body dropping coincides with my guess of how much of the stuff I dropped in her wine she’s ingested. I used Excel to work out a dosage table, body weight, milligrams and time; I’m good at pivot tables. I got her weight from her fitness program on the games console. Don’t you just love technology? I think I heard the slap of meat against the shower tray. She’ll not call me “Useless… fucking… geek…" again!