>Tonight’s Sunday Scribblings prompt is absurd.
When he walked in, I was sweating profusely, running frantically from room to room with my arms full of discarded clean underwear, children’s books and toys. As I ran, I left a trail of tumbling clutter.
He greeted me, awkwardly, with false cheer. “Hi Vanessa! How are you doing today?”
I wanted to scream, “How the h*ll does it LOOK like I’m doing bozo????” But I didn’t. Instead, I ran by him into Juliette’s room and yelled down at the kids, “Stay there on the porch, do NOT move. Not even an inch. Do NOT come into the house with your wet bathing suits.”
Once he’d ascertained that I was not going to formally acknowledge his presence, he added, almost to himself, “Well, let me see what I can do to help you straighten up.” He began trailing me, walking from room to room, straightening bed covers that I had just made.
I resisted the urge to insult his intelligence and I ran downstairs, after all, we had less than 5 minutes until the open house was set to begin.
In the kitchen, with only one minute to go, he tried again to engage me in some light conversation.
“Well, you’ve certainly been traveling a lot!”
I answered this time, with gritted teeth, “Well, that was the plan. Sell the house, travel, and come home to enjoy our last two weeks in the house in peace.”
He smiled, relieved to be entering chit chat territory. “Welcome to real estate!”
Once again, I was struck speechless by a flare of anger.
Even as I raged internally, I knew that my behavior was immature and absurd. I knew that I was taking out all of my frustration, stress and anger on an innocent scapegoat. It’s not his fault that instead of spending these last two weeks in New Jersey comforting my kids and getting them ready for this big change in their lives, I’m haranguing them to keep their rooms spotless. It’s not his fault that I’m adding to my children’s stress instead of minimizing it.
But I couldn’t help myself. The joy of hating him, of dumping the entire situation on him, was just too great. He is not the cause of our failed house sale. The real culprit is the employer who laid off our buyer on the day we were to finalize the contract. But as I’ll never know who that is, I’ll have to settle for the cheap thrills of scapegoat bashing.
Sometimes, you just have to embrace your inner child, and give yourself the luxury of a tantrum.
This is an original Chefdruck Musings post. Do not copy without permission.