The big lie

My husband is a little bit pissed at me. He tries to hide his irritation, but that's impossible for him, because you see, he's a big fat baby. And have I mentioned how needy he is? Geesh.

Now, I'm not one to go on about things (I'm really not), but he needs to take a tough pill and shut up already.

As wives go, I'd say I'm okay. I mean, I'm not the best looking gal out there, and I'm not always willing to drop everything to wash his socks or perform other wifely duties (if you know what I mean -- and I think you do), but I did BEAR HIS THREE CHILDREN, the last of which was WITHOUT AN EPIDURAL OR ANY MEDICATION OF ANY SORT because he just had to find a closer parking spot and stop in the gift shop for a pack of gum.

Why is he pissed at me? Why? You wanna know why?

Because I'm nice. People think I'm nice. Honest to God, that's what the man is cranky about.

He says our neighbors, the teachers, the principal, my theatre friends and the lady at Kroger all think I'm a nice person.

Oh, and his mother thinks I'm nice, too; and she thinks I'm the best thing that ever happened to him. And he's sick and tired of hearing about it.

See, I'm not always the nicest person in the world, and it's usually my husband who sees that not-so-nice side. But isn't that part of that whole "for better and for worse" thing?

It all came to a head last night.

His mother stopped over with a big casserole dish of macaroni and cheese -- at the precise moment husband was pouring himself a bowl of Life cereal. For dinner.

He used the opportunity to set his mother straight about me: "Do you see what a wonderful wife she is? Look, I'm eating cereal for dinner."

His mother replied with a lengthy dissertation about how hard I work and how difficult it is to keep a house, work full time, be a mother of three boys and still be expected to cook dinner every night. She finished her lecture with, "And you need to do more around here; she's a great mother and you are lucky to have somone so nice."

Right then, I think I saw a vein in his forehead I've never noticed in sixteen years of marriage.

Later, as I sat in bed attempting to read the newspaper in peace, he tried to extend an olive branch by starting a neutral conversation.

Husband: Did you see so-and-so at the soccer game?
Me: No, but I heard him.
Husband: Cheering for the kids?
Me: No, he was standing right behind me going on and on about all the events and activities they have to go to this week. Who the hell cares that their daughter is in ballet and it's at the same time as little Johnny's piano lesson, which ends just in time for karate? He just droned on and on throughout the entire game in that annoying voice of his about his exceptionally talented kids and their precious activities.

There was a lengthy pause.

Husband: I wish all the people who are constantly telling me how sweet and nice my wife is could hear these things. I really do. You are not a nice person.
Me: Nope.

After I finished the paper and turned off the light, he tried again.

Husband: Hey. You tired?
Me: A little.
Husband (scooting closer) : Wanna talk?
Me: Okay.
Husband (scooting even closer) : Mmmm.
Me: Hey! I thought we were going to talk!
Husband: Yeah, but I thought it would be nice to...
Me: (rolling over) : Yeah, well I'm not a nice person.
Husband: Nope.