Yep. A lot of talk and threats in the past. Now she does not even look at me or seem to want to stay in the same room. I protect myself by exiting the room first, or read a book if in bed.
If there is a wedding, I am the first and last person on the dance floor. I’m not a good dancer I assure you, it’s something like breathing and participating in the event rather be anywhere near exposed to their trigger fingers.
Frankly, I notice it pisses her off that I talk, laugh and interact with people who she knows aren’t red hot on her or her family. Truth is, I smile my ass off and laugh at other people’s jokes. It’s a hoot! Most times I actually forget about my anxiety walking into these parties.
Then when we hook up after a dance near our table, and, in the style of my master, my face sort of changes and I speak very monotone one or two word answers as I take the dance floor with gusto. An object in motion tends to stay in motion.
A former girlfriend of mine (35 years ago who is married and Mother to two young men) heard about my epilepsy (her oldest boy is having his third brain surgery in a month for his seizures) gave me (her son did) a metal of the patron Saint of neurological disorders. I wore it and she went into her best passive aggressive personality rage ever. Rage meaning a silent sneak attack. A beating that leaves no physical scars or marks. It was like a science project.
We have sex once a month (if that) barely talk, and by all appearances don’t seem to like one another – so what’s the downside?
I’ll keep hanging around all the other black sheep. Maybe we can start a club. The stories I hear from these sheep sometimes cheer me up. I’m thinking it might be more DNA than behavior, bad toilet training, or Daddy issues.

If you can, latch onto and richly savor these few shallow and meaningless opportunities to be obnoxious. Make a game out of it.

What the fuck….