Every now and then I post a list of the most outlandish search terms people have used, which in turn point them to my blog. Then comes this one. Oh, it's good:
wife has grudges and whines all time
I don't have any proof, but I know my husband just got internet access at his desk (long story) a few months ago. I also know we recently spent sixteen days driving around in a car together. Sixteen days living in hotel rooms and within the confines of a tent camper. Sixteen days: morning, noon and night. Sixteen days listening to me bitch and whine. Over and over and over.
I'm also privy to the fact that over the weekend he Googled my unexplainable fear of those huge windmill things, the ones that harness wind energy. I know, I know, most people think they're cool. But they scare the living hell out of me. I can't articulate precisely why.
When I took over driving on our way out West, immediately after I pulled onto the interstate in Nowheresville, Nebraska, right beside the road was a giant windmill, flashing its red light at me. I made myself as small as possible, not taking my eyes off the road, emitting tiny squeaking sounds of fear. I can't even explain the terror I felt. It's like time stopped, and I couldn't get away from the evil, nightmarish flashing red light and immense, white structure. Never matter how irrational it may be; it's real to me.
I'm also, as long as we're talking about my phobias, deathly afraid of blimps, but only if they're very close. When driving to pick my son up from school one day a blimp flew over me. It was one of those MetLife Insurance balloons, the kind with Snoopy on it. Snoopy may as well have transformed from the happy go lucky dog from Daisy Hill Puppy Farm into a slobbering, snarling Great Dane with a taste for blood. My blood.
I was seconds away from a panic attack. My fight or flight instinct was so strong, and my stomach so sick, I had to force myself to keep driving. I made myself concentrate on the road (in these instances, something so noticeable I'm a little disturbed to admit it), refusing to look up. By the time I reached his school the blimp was out of site, thank God, and I didn't see it again that day.
Then along comes today's Google search. Not that I'm paranoid or anything - well, okay, I am - but it crossed my mind, "What if he Googled my most defining traits and it lead him straight to me?" It's like that really awful 70s song about a couple that's on the rocks. Both of them place personal ads in the paper, describing themselves and their likes and dislikes, and they wind up meeting each other on a blind date. Total finger down the throat gag, but in the case of this Google hit a girl has to wonder.
Just because I remember every mean thing he's said or done to me since 1985, does that make me a woman who holds unusual grudges? I can also recite word for word dialogue from many of the fights we've had, and, without provocation, will suddenly start spouting it. Yesterday, for whatever reason, I felt the need to remind him of his disregard for my pain days after giving birth to our first child. It's like I'm a random bitch generator. I never know what will pop up or when. But once it starts, I run with it, boy. And I am strangely unrepentant.
Sorry, just had to share. I didn't realize I'd open so many cans of worms (do worms, or have they ever actually come in cans?), revealing what a paranoid, bitchy person I can be. A lot of people assume I'm laid back, but ooooh nooooo... If you lived with me you'd soon know. I can be that laid back, goofy person. But I can also turn into a raving nut without provocation.
So go home and kiss the threshold of your house. Be grateful. It could be so, so much worse.
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