Many moons ago, CP and I lived out in the country not too far from the town I grew up in. We were supposed to buy that house, owned by his uncle, but that’s another blog post.
We had been in town one evening, getting groceries. My grandmother was with us. She lived in the trailer behind the house. My daughter, just 2 at the time was strapped into her car seat, next to my grandmother in the back seat.
It was later in the evening, around 7pm or so. It was summer, so it was still light out. CP was driving. I always let him drive because he made me feel like a shitty driver, always nagging at me. I could pull into a parking lot and drive across an empty parking spot and he would be sure to tell me what could have happened had there been a car there. One time, being sick to death of his bullshit, I replied, “No shit. I wouldn’t have been able to drive over the spot if there had been a car there!” I mean, really? What the fuck? Another time, I made a left-hand turn and slightly clipped the right lane of the road I was turning onto. There were no cars on that road or anywhere else. CP had to tell me what would have happened if there had been a car there. I told him, “Do I really look so stupid that I would have turned like that if there HAD BEEN a car there?” But I digress. My point is that I let him drive because I didn’t want to hear his continual criticism.
So, we’re driving home that night after shopping in town. CP was driving normal speeds in town but when we hit the country roads he wasn’t going 55mph, the posted speed limit. He wasn’t going 45mph. He wasn’t even going 35mph! I was exhausted after grocery shopping, taking care of my daughter, the cleaning, the yard, cooking, laundry and every damn thing else and I just wanted to get home. I kept asking myself, Why the fuck is he going 25mph? I kept looking at the speedometer, thinking I was misreading it. I wasn’t. He was really going that slow. I was getting more and more freakin’ aggravated! I just wanted to get home, unload the groceries and put them away, bathe my daughter and get her to bed, finish folding laundry and putting it away…all without his help, of course. It was always ‘without his help.’ I asked CP, “Why are you going so slow?” His response was something about the nice summer drive in the country…yadda, yadda, yadda. I didn’t give a fuck about that at this point because I was tired and still had shit to do.
I told him, “That’s all good and a nice thought but I have a lot of things to do when we get home and I’m really tired.” Did he speed up? Nope. After what seemed like forever, I finally snapped and said, “Good God, you drive like an old lady!” I guess he didn’t like being criticized for his driving so what did he do? He hit the accelerator and kicked the speed up to 35…45…55…I thought to myself, it’s about damn time. But he didn’t stop at 55. His speed went up to 65, then 70. What a fucking crybaby, I thought. Then at his top speed, he was going 80mph, slowing only to make the required turns to get us home. I was gripping the door handle for dear life. My Granny’s eyes got huge and she was hanging on as well. My daughter, thankfully, had no clue. Thank God for seatbelts and car seats.
When we got home, I was pissed. I felt like cutting his fucking throat with a jagged knife. He was in one of his moods now, in his mind obviously my fault. He said absolutely nothing, most likely because he knew I had a fucking temper; he had seen it before. I quickly put all the fridge and freezer foods away, leaving the rest until later. CP was fumbling around the house and then got ready for bed. I got my daughter to bed, no bath. I was exhausted…emotionally and physically.
I wanted to lay into CP so badly, but I knew it was a fruitless effort because inevitably, it was always my fault. Even though I expressed nicely that I just wanted to get home because I was tired. He ignored what I wanted, as usual. I made a comment he didn’t like, so it was all my fault.
Eventually, we had a discussion…about a lot of things. His 80mph show of masculinity was not one of them. He wanted to talk about my 1962 Cougar, sitting idle on the property. It had sat idle for years; first at the house in town and now on the property at the country house. His uncle wanted to show the property but wanted the old cars removed.
The discussion turned to the fact that MY car had been sitting for 6 months while I was left without my own transportation. The car needed ONE part, for the carburetor I believe, and my grandmother paid for that. CP installed the part, after weeks of the car being out of order. Finally, I thought I would have my wheels back but…NO. CP wanted to fucking paint the parts under the hood so they wouldn’t rust!! Weeks and weeks pass, and now 6 months later I was still without wheels. I told him, “I think you like the fact that I’m stuck at home with no transportation. I think you like knowing that I can’t go anywhere without you taking me.” He said that wasn’t the case, but I knew better. He didn’t know that I was NOT home as he thought I was a couple times a week, thanks to friends and family. I’m thankful we didn’t have cell phones back then with GPS, because you bet your ass he would have been tracking me!
Honestly, thinking back about all the shit this man put me through, I’m surprised I didn’t eventually snap and cut his throat. I’m not a bad person, but I sure understand why women kill their husbands or boyfriends! A woman can only take so much! Emotional and mental abuse is just as bad if not worse than physical abuse. One time I told him, “Sometimes, I wish you’d just hit me because at least I then I could defend myself.” But he knew better than that…