Got any spare happy pills?
It is months and months since he's been over to the US - in fact I can't remember if I've got his passport at the moment (and if I have I couldn't readily locate it).
I've confiscated it in the past when he's been particularly inconsiderate or otherwise to have the opportunity to make a point.
Regularly he would piss me off totally by announcing with only 24 to 48 hours notice that he was flying off to Pennsylvania (this was after I'd forced him out into the open about what was going on, after I'd found the first tranche of evidence). Usually the flight had become available at short notice, or she'd developed some calamitous medical condition. In respect of the latter the best one was the need to be treated for some life-threatening uterine condition.
At the time I was a senior consultant working for a global management consultancy; I was earning good money and comfortably keeping the roof over our heads. I had money to spare for the first time since we'd married. What I needed was a house husband. What did I have. A fat hairy indolent lying thieving bastard. He'd tell me he was working when friends in town would report to me that they would see him at all hours of the day, sloping around town, in the pub, in the library.
I'd come home and find him sprawled on the floor of the lounge with a plate of food in front of him, surrounded by crumbs and with a hand in his pants watching either some video/dvd or crap tv. He'd leap up and babble some story about work having been cancelled or a half-day training day or ... as if I hadn't long ago learned to spot a lie a mile off and told him this too.
Then I found the second tranche of evidence. This evidence comprised emails, ticket stubs, memorabilia from restaurants, museums, sports events and so forth. A couple of things became crystal clear: the "life-threatening uterine condition" had in fact been IVF treatment (while they waited for him to get a permanent or long-term visa so they could try a more traditional approach) and the trips were always being scheduled weeks in advance.
My career, the thing that kept the roof over his head, the food on his plate, the clothes on his back, that allowed him the luxury of spending the day lounging about with his hands in his pants was being jeopardised every time I had to shift cancel client work at short notice, skip a course or a meeting because I'd been left high and dry by his antics.
I took his passport when he returned, read the riot act when he asked me if I had it a month or so later and extracted a promise that he'd be more reasonable in future. If you've read this you'll have some idea what that promise was worth.
Anyway, time has passed and his visits with her are less frequent. In fact I'm not even sure if it is still going on. If it isn't, and he's missing out, that might explain his desperate need for some happy meals. He lugs his great weight about and scowls. His latest stunt is to threaten violence towards a colleague.
Anyone with a brain, unhappy in his job as he undoubtedly is, would get another job before putting the current one at risk. Right now he seems to be asking to be sacked. He's sexually frustrated and he's taking it out on just about the most vulnerable of his co-workers. Another hallmark of the bully, I suppose.
God help us if he loses his job, though. Has anyone got any happy pills to spare?
I've confiscated it in the past when he's been particularly inconsiderate or otherwise to have the opportunity to make a point.
Regularly he would piss me off totally by announcing with only 24 to 48 hours notice that he was flying off to Pennsylvania (this was after I'd forced him out into the open about what was going on, after I'd found the first tranche of evidence). Usually the flight had become available at short notice, or she'd developed some calamitous medical condition. In respect of the latter the best one was the need to be treated for some life-threatening uterine condition.
At the time I was a senior consultant working for a global management consultancy; I was earning good money and comfortably keeping the roof over our heads. I had money to spare for the first time since we'd married. What I needed was a house husband. What did I have. A fat hairy indolent lying thieving bastard. He'd tell me he was working when friends in town would report to me that they would see him at all hours of the day, sloping around town, in the pub, in the library.
I'd come home and find him sprawled on the floor of the lounge with a plate of food in front of him, surrounded by crumbs and with a hand in his pants watching either some video/dvd or crap tv. He'd leap up and babble some story about work having been cancelled or a half-day training day or ... as if I hadn't long ago learned to spot a lie a mile off and told him this too.
Then I found the second tranche of evidence. This evidence comprised emails, ticket stubs, memorabilia from restaurants, museums, sports events and so forth. A couple of things became crystal clear: the "life-threatening uterine condition" had in fact been IVF treatment (while they waited for him to get a permanent or long-term visa so they could try a more traditional approach) and the trips were always being scheduled weeks in advance.
My career, the thing that kept the roof over his head, the food on his plate, the clothes on his back, that allowed him the luxury of spending the day lounging about with his hands in his pants was being jeopardised every time I had to shift cancel client work at short notice, skip a course or a meeting because I'd been left high and dry by his antics.
I took his passport when he returned, read the riot act when he asked me if I had it a month or so later and extracted a promise that he'd be more reasonable in future. If you've read this you'll have some idea what that promise was worth.
Anyway, time has passed and his visits with her are less frequent. In fact I'm not even sure if it is still going on. If it isn't, and he's missing out, that might explain his desperate need for some happy meals. He lugs his great weight about and scowls. His latest stunt is to threaten violence towards a colleague.
Anyone with a brain, unhappy in his job as he undoubtedly is, would get another job before putting the current one at risk. Right now he seems to be asking to be sacked. He's sexually frustrated and he's taking it out on just about the most vulnerable of his co-workers. Another hallmark of the bully, I suppose.
God help us if he loses his job, though. Has anyone got any happy pills to spare?
posted by Enyo @ 11:25 am
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