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Monday, January 19, 2015

Banned if I Do, Banned if I Don't

Winner, Winner, Chicken Dinner -- Not So Much

Winner Dadzilla Chicken Dinner

Ever since we moved into the first 2 bedroom apartment, I haven't been allowed to go shopping with him. I asked him why and he claims I spend too much money. I don't know how that can be since almost everything I get is on sale or generic. What I think is the real issue is that it gives me more choices that are out of Dadzilla's control. He just has to micromanage or he's insecure. Nothing like getting smothered.

He asks what I want sometimes and puts me on the spot so I don't have time to think about it. He complains. If I'm ready for him and make a short list, he complains. If I take the initiative and leave the list on the table, he complains. Sometimes he'll take the list, then he doesn't come with half the things. He claims he couldn't find them or that they were out of whatever it was. Again, I feel he's exerting control.

It does no good to say anything; he'll just argue. If you tell him he argues all the time, he'll argue and deny it on top of that. I come up with the “DART” behavior theory to apply to Dadzilla. Deny, Argue, Reflect (as in “you do the same thing”), Temper Tantrum, but all of them don't always occur. If they all occur, then I might get lucky that the argument was big enough he might not talk to me for a day or two.

Another thing he usually does at the grocery store is stop by the pharmacy and pick up my meds. Sometimes, it's “I'm not your servant, goddamnit.” One time I didn't ask him to get my meds, then I went out to get them when he came home. He wanted to know where I was going and why. I told him, “I'm going to get my meds, because you told me this week you were tired of being my “servant”.” He says nothing and looks away. Then another time I don't tell him to get my meds, and I go get them. I get home with the meds, and he asked what I was doing. “Jesus Christ, I could have gotten those for you while I was there.” Often, there is no winning with Dadzilla.

When he gets home with the groceries and I make the mistake of making an appearance too early, he has to go over the grocery order. As if I can't figure it out. As if I'm blind, deaf, and dumb. Of course, this probably isn't the first time he'll have gone over the order. This is at least the second time, because he talks about the order before he goes. The order is pretty much 80% the same every week, the one I'm not allowed to go get. It's really not that confusing, and if I'm not allowed to have any say in what I get for groceries, why should I care?

Oh, yes. Sometimes he'll come home with an exact duplicate of cereal that we already have. Other times he'll bring something home that I don't like, so I don't eat it. We've discussed it, it does no good, and I give up. At any given time, there's generic lunch meat in the “rotter” drawer in the fridge. I've told him that I can't do generic meat; I'm afraid of what the government might allow them to put in it. He'd be better off just getting more vegetables or something. They are cheaper, and there's more of a chance I'll eat them. This never happens. Then-- “What's that smell in the refrigerator?” and the mystery meat that's been in there for a few weeks is tossed.

I'm also not allowed to have 1% or skim milk. Every week, there's that red lettering of the whole milk glaring back at me. I take meds for cholesterol. I can't imagine why. I tell Dadzilla, nothing changes. Oh, he acts like he'll get skim or 1% next time; that's what he drinks and it would actually make things easier. I am denied. I'm wondering if he's a masochist, always making things harder for himself. A lot of his torment is of his own making.

Like with just about every other chore, I've offered to do some things. “N-n-no! I can do it. It'll give me something to do.” Then I let him continue doing any particular chore. “What the hell? I'm not your maid. You need to start helping out around here!”
The very next time I offer, I get pushed aside. Damned if I do, damned if I don't. The groceries are kind of like this. I get tired of the games, so I just don't offer anymore and hide in my room if I hear the outside door open.

<Dadzilla Threatens>                                                <cont'd in future post>

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