The Winter of Our Discontent, Part 4: He Just Doesn't Realize How Good He Had It

I had to stop writing for a while about the emotional affair I had last year.  It's just too tough and it wasn't just making me feel worse.  I thought I was over it.  It's just brought all the memories back and I'm not as ready to acknowledge my choice to walk away as I thought I was.  However, I was needing to fill some gaps this week with the school crunch, so this topic came to mind.  I wrote this March 14,2011.

 I'm in a bad place tonight.  I'm a little tired, so that is probably what is fueling this train of thought.  Last Saturday, my husband and I stood up to our Bismarck Palm.  Those of you that know what it is know this is one of the most majestic of the palms.  It grows a wide trunk and has silvery green fronds.  We bought it as a seven dollar tree in a small pot.  There was no way we could afford anything larger than a foot.  These palms are very expensive.  We brought it home and I've watered it, fertilized it, salted it and protected it from freezes while it was small.  It is now taller than the house and seems to be thriving.  It is one of the focal points of our yard.  Every spring we stand in front of it and argue about cutting off the "dead" fronds.

One spring, right after I told him not to hack at the Bismarck until the fronds were truly dead.  He walked around the house and cut off everything he could reach.  I was so angry I couldn't see straight.  The little girl that lived around the corner asked me what happened when she saw the pile of fronds.  I answered.  "He did what he wanted to do.  That's what men do."

So every year we argue about that damn palm tree.  I tell him don't cut the fronds off until they are dead all the way to the trunk.  Don't rip the fronds off, let them fall on their own.  This is how the trunk of a palm tree grows firm and healthy.  "LEAVE THE BISMARCK PALM ALONE."  I say in my mothering voice as he heads toward it with a saw.  Still, he goes over there and hacks at it.  I get pissed off and don't say anything.  This year, he wanted to chop on that thing so bad, he was sawing on last years  leftovers.  Then I saw it.  He'd cut down two fronds that were obviously still alive.  They were silvery green all the way back to the truck.  They were not ready to be removed.  Then he stands there and with a token gesture "asks" me if he can cut "these two" fronds down.  I say no, they are not dead all the way back to the trunk.  Leave the tree alone.  I point out the fact that he already cut down two fronds that were not dead yet.  He said the leaves were dead.  And it's spring 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009 and 2010 all over again.  He makes some kind of remark that I'm never happy and that sends me through the roof.  He REALLY doesn't see how often I bite my tongue and choose my battles.  He does exactly whatever he wants, whenever he wants and how he wants.

I'm ready to be angry and not say anything like I always do, instead I said, "If you had a real wife, you'd better appeciate what you've had."  He thought it was funny.  He laughed and asked me if I knew what I'd said.  Oh, I knew what I said and I knew how I felt at that moment.  I didn't feel like a wife.  I felt ignored and disrespected.