If, by “interesting,” you understand “a fucking nightmare from start to finish.” Umm, I don’t write a lot here about my relationship with my husband’s best friend, because it’s too complicated. He’s… well, my husband’s best friend, and my firstborn’s godfather, and both my kids really like him, but he and I don’t really get along, but I have to be nice to him, and sometimes he is nice too, and then I decide to forget about all the other stuff and that’s when he strikes. I can never decide whether he’s evil or just Really That Clueless.
He came to our house on Sunday. And he cleaned a lot (um, hello? MY house), and rearranged furniture and reorganized things that I now have to fix and restore and put back. He kept saying I could say no to his suggestions, but when I did, he ignored me and did them anyway. And I can’t trust him to be civil, so I have to be on guard all the time (on guard? what for? It’s not like I can retaliate in any way, since I have to be nice to him, see above) so I can’t relax when he’s in the house, which he was for TWO DAYS. And some of it was good, he found some special wood-polish and made the interior doors look not-so-crappy. And some of it was bad – some of the tools are on one shelf now, and others are on a different shelf, and then there’s one wrench – part of a set, mind you – that now lives in the kitchen? For some reason? And some is both good and bad – he trimmed the bushes in the back yard, thank you, and now there’s a big pile of branches and crap waiting for me to cart it away, thank you very much.
And he stayed overnight. In MY office. DrBob’s office has a sleepable furniture in it, but it’s the only room with internet, so it was logical for the Best Friend to stay in MY space, the only place I can be ALONE, instead. (Well, okay, I can hide in the laundry room. I did that a lot, actually.) But see how that worked? It was logical for him to sleep in my office, so I couldn’t object without seeming irrational. And the doors really did look crappy, and he really did make them better, but somehow that gave him the right to mess with everything, and he always made it sound so logical and anyway it was always just a suggestion and I could put it back if I wanted (tell that to the plants he cut up), and I could never object without sounding both ungrateful and unreasonable. So I just skulked around the house like a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs, and got increasingly pissed off.
When Ignatz got home from school yesterday, BF dragooned him into reorganizing his room, steamrollered over all his objections, kept him busy for two hours (making changes that we will now have to un-make). Ignatz had made plans with a friend, and he was now late, so he rushed through his homework and sprinted out the door. BF checked his homework, marked all the errors, and told me to make Ignatz re-do it. Which I couldn’t, because I was taking the Sniglet to his first soccer practice (awww…), but I talked to Ignatz later about it. We made a deal: he doesn’t rush through his homework, and I don’t let anyone drag him away from it, for any reason.
So now it’s over, he’s gone, but I’m still twitchy because he kept talking about “next time,” and I have to be ready whenever the question arises with a list of reasons why “next time” is not going to happen, and um, that’s bad. Because I hate, hate, hate conflict, and when I know it’s in my future I get very jittery. Also because every time I turn around I see something he changed that I now have to change back.
Song du jour of the day: Get Out of My House, by Kate Bush