It's official. I can't stand him.
My girl has lice. I have lice. My boy has lice. We all have lice. It's totally disgusting. Except Tico, he doesn't have lice because he has short hair and lice don't like in short, thick hair. That he doesn't have lice is unfair in itself and could cause some women to feel justifiably angry. But I forgive him that.
That he snapped at me when I freaked out as I got the news from their dad was more difficult to forgive, but I did. I remembered that I don't like it when he is dramatic, either. I did shriek in panic at the pictures and texts Husband #1 sent while he was watching TV.
Last night I carefully combed lice out of my hair with my friend on speaker, willing to stay on and talk me off a ledge. She was a good sport to stay on the phone. She was sneaking out to smoke cigarettes while her children were asleep as we were talking. I could hear her deep inhales and was reminded of how we used to sneak cigarettes when we were drunk back before both of us stopped alcohol.
I asked, "Are they menthols?"
"No, regular."
I like menthols better, but I don't judge, we all gotta find our ways to cope. So she smoked and I combed and an hour later I fell into a cozy sleep with dreams of little bugs crawling across my pillows.
This morning Tico tried to console me.
He asked me, "Why are you so scared of the lice?"
To which I replied, "They are hard to get rid of, they itch, I have to clean the whole house and it's a lot of work. I'm overwhelmed. But it's Saturday and a weekend and I guess I didn't have any other plans."
He assured me he would help me and it would be fun to do together.
I combed my hair for a second time and found another 10-20 eggs. At least I didn't find live ones but a sign that this is far from over. Then I proceeded to start stripping the beds and doing all the laundry. That's where things just blew up. Tico wanted to help but kept asking me questions, "Do I need to wash this thing? What about the white things?" Idiot questions. Since I didn't know what 'things' he was referring to I had to follow him to see. The dust ruffle? No. The mattress pad? Yes.
At some point he asked me "What about this white thing" in my daughter's room and I responded, crossly, "I don't know what you mean by the white thing. I can't follow you around to clarify."
He glared at me and said threateningly, "Don't talk to me like that."
And that was it.
He threw the laundry downstairs then declared, "Just let me know if you want me to help you."
I didn't respond.
He repeated, "Did you hear me? I said let me know if you want me to help you."
Then he stomped around to which I replied, "You seem angry."
"You have to tell me what you want me to do or you will have to do it all on your own."
"Nothing new, I usually do things on my own."
"That's bullshit, you and your stupid story that you do everything on your own, you know, fuck you! Just fuck you! Fuck off! I'm leaving!"
Then he left for 3 hours while I did 4 loads of laundry, vacuumed, cleaned the kitchen, made the bed, and mopped the floor.
I hate that my husband calls me names and swears at me. I can't decide if I'm being dramatic or if this is borderline abusive. I can't decide if I'm half the problem. After all, I do say snarky things. When I know his anger is ramping up I don't apologize to calm him down. His inability to have empathy for me is so frustrating and I don't know if I'll want to continue in this marriage if I don't see that change.
I don't really care if he leaves when he's like that. In fact, I'm thankful that he's gone, even if it means I have to do all the cleaning myself. Maybe I am a martyr or maybe I just don't like to ask for help when I've been told to fuck off.
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