So the first words I hear this morning (while still in bed) are, predictably, “Good morning.” It was the 3rd word on that kinda snuck up on me.
"I just can’t believe you didn’t notice I had my hair cut yesterday. All three of your children noticed it immediately and complimented me on it."
First reaction, oh please let this be a horrible dream. Nope, gotta piss. This is apparently my wake-up call.
So I immediately try to cover my tracks. “Uh, you know it was kinda hectic when I got home last night, and…”
"You sat directly across the table from me at dinner last night. Didn’t you look at me, or did you just not SEE me."
And me, I still gotta piss.
What the fuck do you think this is? Some kind of a test? Gee, let’s change something minor, and see if he notices. But excuse me, it isn’t as though you had waist length hair shorn into a buzz cut. For the last 15 years or so your hair has been more or less the same length, and more or less the same color. Somedays it is more wavy than others.
But if you haven’t realized it yet, get this through your beautifully coiffed thick skull. I DO NOT NOTICE YOUR HAIR, I HAVE NEVER NOTICED YOUR FUCKING HAIR, AND I WILL NEVER NOTICE YOUR FUCKING HAIR UNTIL IT FALLS OUT (and only then if I have to sweep it up or it clogs the drain.)
If you want that to be the basis for our divorce, so be it. But if not, enough already. Might as well be just as pissed that I can’t make monkeys fly out of my butt. It ain’t gonna happen.
We talked on the phone yesterday. Suppose you couldn’t have mentioned that you were gonna get a haircut. And when I got home and we discussed our days, if you had mentioned it I would have said it looked nice (and meant it too.) But too many times I’ve sincerely complimented your hair, and had you say it was especially dirty and ratty that day. Or asked if you are wearing a new blouse, and heard you tell me how many times I have seen you in it. Do you keep track of such things? You keeping score? Do you say to yourself, "Okay, I’ve worn this damn blouse three times without that bastard noticing it. Let’s see if we can go for four!"
Sorry if this pisses you off, but the exact style of your hair on a given day is not the reason I married you 17 years ago, and is not the reason I’m still glad you are my wife and the mother of my children.
No longer am i going to participate in the “Notice anything different?” game. Was a time I’d break out in flop sweats and cast madly about trying to remember what the fucking drapes looked like when I last saw them, how many kids we had that morning, or whether or not I’d noticed each and every aspect of your clothing and grooming. I’m not playing that game any more.
So stop with the testing already. Give me enough credit. I do enough seriously jerky things that you should get pissed at, that you don’t need to focus on this.