Thursday, January 27, 2011

I'm pretty surely I narrowly survived a choking last night

Yesterday evening started out so promisingly. P.I.C. and I both left work a little early to hustle to a tasting for wedding food. We were looking forward to it, knowing that we loved the restaurant and that it would be a unique and fun idea to feed our guests. As expected, we LOVED the food. The owner (I think he was the owner) was ever-so-gracious and fed us thoroughly. Not only did we leave stuffed, he wrapped up all we did not eat for us to take home. Score. It was a good eating night.

So, P.I.C. and I headed home to unwind for the evening. We watched a movie, then started chatting wedding logistics. Y'know, the boring stuff like renting tables, dishes, etc. (BARF.) We then started discussing how we would get the tables set up and, as is typical of late when getting stressed out with wedding stuff that is not fun (read: anything other than eating or music), I started to feel this tightness well up in my chest and flashes of panic wrecked through my head.

F.A. "Um, OK. We don't need to figure this all out now. K?"
P.I.C. "Well, we do need to figure it out."
F.A. "I KNOW. Just not right now."


At this point, P.I.C. gets this look on his face that I have now been able to put a finger on. It is a look of utter frustration and irritation that tells me that it wouldn't be so bad if he just choked me...a....litttle....bit to make the pain stop. We stop talking about wedding stuff and go to bed.

As we are laying in bed, I get P.I.C. to admit he was utterly frustrated with me (WHAT NERVE) and that he gets frustrated when I "shut down" and decide I don't want to play wedding planning.

F.A. "I hate that look on my face. It looks as though you want to choke me a little."

P.I.C. just starts laughing. "No. I really don't want to choke you. I just think that you are an incredibly frustrating woman."

F.A. "Duh."


F.A. "But don't you think that if you just choked me a little, your frustration would be subdued a bit?"
P.I.C. "Seriously. What is wrong with you? I promise I don't want to choke you."
F.A. "OK. Fine. I'm glad. G'night. Love you."

Sigh. I really don't think that he wants to choke me. Honestly, I am fully aware of the level of frustration I cause him. It is as though I am outside my body witnessing myself act like a bratty jerk, but I cannot stop it. I can't help it! I don't WANT to figure out who will set up our over-priced rental tables. Sorry. It is not fun for me. Sometimes, I just want someone to figure this all out for me. Then I remember that in three months, this shenanigan will be over, and I can just enjoy being married, regardless of who sets up our damn tables on that day.

Yeah. I am not a Bridezilla. I'm more of an Asshole-Bride. Sorry.

1 comment:

  1. I also am sometimes a miserable brat. And then I bring it up at night when we're lying in bed, and we have MANY conversations that are far too similar to this one. Ha.

    But. On a serious note. Try explaining to him that certain things just do not matter to you, and if they matter to him, he's welcome to take care of it. If they don't, delegate it. I think we made our parents decide seats for their sides of the family and their friends, and we only seated our own friends. Much easier that way.