At times Gary will get into a negative state when all he says is a judgment or criticism. This state will last for days until I point out he’s in a negative rant. I can point this out by listing everything he says. One time the list culminated in “the birds in the yard are too fat.” This time I made the mistake of trying to amuse him with a slightly off-color story from work and he snarled that I had become coarse and vulgar. Coarse I will cop to. But – vulgar? Okay, well, coarse and vulgar I will cop to. But THAT ISN’T THE POINT HERE.
So, for the first time in 20+ years, Gary made me so annoyed I decided it was best if I stopped talking to him AND ignored him when he apologized AND went to bed angry AND stayed angry for two days. I’m not proud. (I’m coarse and vulgar. Plus, as Libby asked, “And – that’s a bad thing?”)
Interestingly, after the two days of the silent treatment (again, I’m not proud) Gary rolled on his back and showed me his soft underbelly. So I took advantage of the upper hand when he started vacillating that we should go out – stay in – go out – stay in.
“We should go out. And we should go out to that place I wanted to go to where you said everyone was too young and you would feel uncomfortable.”
So we did, and did we walk in to a cloud of pot smoke and Ecstasy and techno-pop? No. It was an Irish pub sing-along. Let me say that again in full “I told you so” voice. IRISH! PUB! SING-ALONG! All Gary, all the time. They should re-name the bar “The Place We Built For Gary.” His Grandmother was all Irish, so I guess he’s one-quarter Irish. (In contrast to his sister, who calls herself in all seriousness one-ninth American Indian.) Everyone was belting out “Back Home in Derry” and dancing jigs to this band, The Irish Exiles.
“Oh, honey, I hope you don’t feel uncomfortable.” I cooed.
“Ha! I want to tear up the place.” Then he pounded on the table in time. He’s so coarse and vulgar.