Yesterday was horrendous - first of all I had to brave a busy supermarket - the sights, sounds, smells, possibility of being bashed into = all of these things cause stress and anxiety. The busier the place is, the worse this gets.
Well, it would have been nice to come home to a quiet house and just calm down for a bit. Husband decides to get his jam on with some crappy music and lo, I have a damn headache which just pounds with the beat. So, I ask awfully nicely if he could turn the music down a fraction. Errr. NAW. Apparently I could feck off and take a paracetamol. So wonderful to be loved and cherished in this way.
He did eventually turn it down but not before having a good old rant at me first. This did wonders for my head.
But of course he should be able to do as he pleases in his own home....actually, I only wish that were true. Then I wouldn't have to do any washing, cooking, cleaning, shopping or damned ironing...but there you go.
If I were a nasty battleaxe, I would probably be treated better. Being nice to look at (well, I was when young) and kind and thoughtful and considerate means you get treated like a punch bag. Hilarious,
I am taking a poll on this -- if you think women should be treated like dirt, put your hand up...then I can bite it...lol