Everything seemed fine when I left Viny's place in the morning. Lilianna and Parker had gone camping for a couple of days, and I had just spent a very sweet night with Viny. We'd decided that on the second night, I wouldn't stay over, but would come for dinner, leave for a while and then come back to 'tuck her in' at night, and then leave again. This whole plan had a certain {insert French or Italian phrase here} to it. We imagined Viny as the noblewoman and myself as the faithful and well-endowed (intellectually of course) manservant at her beck and call. That appealed to both of us.
Of course, reality has a way . . .
When I returned in the evening, things had changed. Viny was clearly upset. My first priority, of course, was to comfort her. Nah, just kidding! My first priority was to determine if she was pissed at me and to run damage control. As it turned out, it wasn't me! It was her son Denali. I could work with that.
Apparently it had been a day of domestic chores for Viny, one that included copious amounts of cleaning products, or at least cleaning activities. A somewhat thankless duty in the best of circumstances. However . . .Viny's son Denali apparently had made two errors. Three, actually: the first, being a self-absorbed teenager (which of course is the job of kids his age). The other errors included 1) dripping fruit syrup on a newly cleaned floor and 2) not being overly concerned about it (something to the effect of 'What's the big deal?').
So as I walked in the door, my eye was immediately drawn to one particular element in the room, and that was the furrow that had formed in Viny's brow – which, while not quite grand canyon like in depth, was nonetheless intimidating enough that you wouldn't want to get too close to the edge. From past experience, I have learned that there are times for comforting V and times where that is not a good idea. This was one of those not-a-good-idea times. I did put my arm around her shoulders once, but it was scary, so I stopped.
Meanwhile Sienna was persistently serenading me with, “Dance with me! Dance with me!” Which meant tossing her in the air repeatedly. So that's what I did. Viny talked a bit about what had happened and why it had upset her. But I was aware that what she needed to do for a while was – fume and clean. Viny can be a fumer when she's mad. I don't think this happens too often but that seems to be where things go sometimes.
So I took on Sienna duty, which included a walk to the garden, a walk to the playground, more 'dancing', and a story about Tommy the Tuna Can. Viny cleaned some more (kind of that angry cleaning, that frightens kitchen counters) and made us dinner.
So a bit later we sat down, to some delicious chicken salad, fruit salad and ciabatta bread. Denali was nowhere to be seen, Sienna had her kid portion, I had my plate complemented by a charming glass of white wine and Viny had her meal: a glass of water. “Aren't you going to eat?” “No, I'm not hungry, you go ahead.” Fuming apparently was not completed.
Which is fine, but it's always a little weird to be eating when someone else is just sitting there. It makes me very aware of everything I'm doing in the eating process. Now I'm spearing the food. Now it's heading towards my mouth. Wow, chewing sounds strange! Is something hanging from my lip?
So after dinner I hung out for a bit longer. I don't mind the way V gets angry. I understand it. I think she feels a little silly about it sometimes, but it really doesn't bother me. There are far worse things that people do when they're mad. At one point she corrected me when I asked her about the cocktail party she had gone to earlier in the day. “It wasn't a cocktail party, it was in the afternoon and we didn't have mixed drinks, which means it was a ...” ( Now I forget what Viny said it was, BUT IT WASN'T A COCKTAIL PARTY!). My laissez faire use of language, which she often finds amusing, was not so appreciated right then.
The thing about all this, and I've noticed it before, is that even when V is not at her best, I still want to be around her. I still feel comfortable being with her, and the way she reacts is not foreign or incomprehensible to me. I'm still attracted to her. I can think of things to do to make the situation a little better. I've been in relationships where that was not the case and upsets became landmine fields and I was wearing size 18 shoes. Which isn't to say I don't watch my step -- I'm not an idiot.
I went to my place for a few hours and returned around 10:00 PM. V had done some writing and I think this is always good for her. She and Denali had patched things up a bit. The storm had subsided. She was feeling better. I very much enjoyed tucking her in for the evening. In fact, I enjoyed the whole evening, storms and all.
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