Thanksgiving a.k.a. Hell On The Homefront

Tweet

Every year, I have this insane hope that Thanksgiving will come and go, without any chaos or arguments. Leaving us with Hallmark-esque memories of that wonderfully long weekend. Every year, I am wrong.

I didn't get a lot of preparation accomplished on Wednesday, as Ross had an out of town dental appointment. We were just one town away from being home, when Hubs insisted that he needed to stop at an auto parts store and buy a door handle for his truck. After he got out of the car, I noticed that smoke was rolling from the driver's side and I got out to investigate. It was coming from the tire/wheel area and smelled awful. Seems that something about the brake was stuck. We made our way to the nearest garage, with Hubs easing down the emergency brake at every stoplight.

Ross and I stayed in the car and waited, while the men raised it in the air and checked out the tire. It seems that the caliper (SP?) was stuck and I guess destroyed. I can't help but assume that this was somehow caused by the beer guzzling, shade tree mechanic, that Hubs had hired to change the brake shoes, just two days before. At any rate, it cost $127.00 to repair and we were back on the road. Thank goodness this didn't happen on the Interstate, farther from home. We made it in around 6 P.M.

The girls reported that my SIL had called while we were out and wanted us to come up to Hubs' mother's house for dinner, the next day. Selly said that she had told her that we were cooking dinner here and entertaining guests. Hubs announced that he was going up there and I was like, "Well, you have fun." I never once said that he shouldn't go, as they were cooking for lunch and we would be having Thanksgiving supper, so the two events wouldn't collide.

Cina had to go to her Dad's until 3 P.M. on Thanksgiving day. Hubs didn't even roll over until after 1:00 in the afternoon, missing the meal at his mom's house. We did try to wake him, with no luck. Luckily, Selly was home to help me cook all day. Having been awake since 3 A.M., I passed out on the sofa and napped until the guests arrived at 6 P.M. Hubs had already helped himself to the food and had left to go hunting. We had a great dinner and everyone left happy and loaded up with leftovers. Hubs made it back home, late at night. He woke me from a dead sleep, demanding that I help him find the TV remote and wanting something to eat.

Friday morning, I awoke, barely able to get around and needing my medication, which we had been unable to get on T-day, as the drugstore was closed. I asked Hubs to pick it up for me, as he needed to go into town and buy the ingredients for the puppy formula I make for his hounds. He said he would, but insisted that I make him breakfast first. So, I hobbled into the kitchen and did just that.

As I handed him his plate, I heard him talking on the phone with a friend, making plans for them to come to our property and deer hunt that day. I reminded him that he had promised to go get my medication. He said he would, after he finished hunting, which would be at dark. I asked him what kind of husband would go out and frolic with his buddies all day, knowing all the while that his wife was home in pain. This evolved into an argument about my keeping him from going to his mother's on T-day, which was a total crock of poo-poo, as I did not. He left and I said Hell with it and called a relative, who was happy to pick up my meds and drop them by.

He came home around 6 P.M.. He seemed pissed that I no longer needed to beg him to go to town.

Saturday morning, I awoke to the strong smell of baby powder. I heard Hubs laughing and telling Tallen to go ahead and do it. Not knowing was "it" was, I sat up to see what was going on. To my horror, Hubs had let Tallen dump powders all in my hair. He thought it was so funny. I asked, "When I go out of my way, making certain that the kids don't bother you while you sleep, why would you actually put them up to annoying me? And, as hard as it is for me to wash my hair and comb it (my hair is really long and my arms get weak), why on earth would you let him dump it full of powder?" He replied, "Because it was funny, Fat Ass." Shocked, I asked him what he had just called me. He said it again, "You heard me, Fat Ass." I pointed out that I am not fat but if I were, that would be a horrible thing to say. He responded with something I can't even remember, but it included him calling me "Fat Ass" for a third time.

Later, as is his usual way, he tried to downplay what he had said, but I wouldn't let him away with it. He told me I was welcome to leave. I told him that I am going nowhere, as I have as much right here as he does. I think I will start recording all the nasty stuff he says to me, buy some recordable Christmas cards, and let his family and friends hear what he is really like, when he isn't putting on a show for them.

Share

Pin It