What makes a successful partnership?

Time is precious right now. I've moved into and taken over the dining room because it helps me to focus and shows the family that I really do need to work. My son just looked in on me and said that if he didn't know better he would think I had been sitting here all the night. Well, I've been sitting here half the night, I'm afraid.

I've been doing a lot of reading and research. The problem is that one fascinating paper or research article only leads to the next. So, I thought to take a quick break and let you guys here ponder a few things...maybe have a thought or two on the following...

Did you know that the research suggests that 'traditional' couples do better than 'harmonious couples'? This seems to be because traditional couples are more realistic, more committed and stick with one another  through good and bad times.

Did you know that a good 'friendship' underlays a good relationship? You need to know things about your partner. What is their greatest fear? What is their favourite color? Relationships are like bank accounts and the other person needs to know that he or she is loved by depositing into the bank account more than you take out.

Did you know that it is vital not to descend down into a negative cycle? When you criticize the other 'person' rather than their behaviour, things are starting to spiral down into the area of 'contempt'. People find that terribly hard and those that practice contempt for the other are well on their way into the divorce courts.

Did you know that one of the most important elements of a long term successful marriage is for the man not to stonewall? Men are much more inclined to do this, the research says, and this is the reason why it is so important for them to be open to listening to a woman and her concerns, ideas and upsets.

Did you know that if a negative sentiment between the two of you overrides a positive sentiment, you need to get back to working on 'friendship'? "I'm sorry" goes a long way towards the positive side of the ledger.

Did you know that research has shown that 'influence' is vital in a relationship? If a man is willing to be influenced by the woman this is a great indicator for a successful marriage.

And, one last thought, did you know that for every criticism you make you need to give five positive comments?

Do you pass the test?

Motivation to write web journals

A fascinating discussion begun by Remittance Girl about the definition of pornography had me asking a similar question to her: Why do I write here? It was once suggested to me that I have such an inclination for "use" that I don't mind being used by total strangers and perverts (I'm sure the phrase was used in the nicest of ways).

It is true that if I wrote with no readers it wouldn't feel the same. Even if there are no comments at all, I can see from the stat counter that people are reading and it means something - though I don't really know what it means. I'm not at all an exhibitionist. I'm much more inclined to wear the outfit that allows me to blend in with the crowd. I'd like to think that I get a few admiring glances but I don't want people ogling me. I don't want that sort of attention.

I am willing to concede I may be a bit of a voyeur. I do so enjoy finding Tumblr photographs that turn me on. I enjoy artwork that has an erotic effect; words that have an erotic effect. I very much enjoy certain movies like 'Nine and half weeks' and 'Secretary' and 'Eyes Wide Shut' and even some songs can lull me into a sense of happiness; fulfilment, joy, arousal. So, if anything I am a voyeur of life and not at all an exhibitionist. Except for this darn web journal which keeps pulling me in.

I do write naughty things elsewhere now quite regularly and I don't have any desire to share that; just the writings here. And, you may or may not have noticed but I am being a bit more discriminating about what I post here. There is some sort of movement away from the need to share as much as I once did. I don't quite know what that is about since we're having a lot of fun in that bedroom of ours and my husband is very much more into  taking control right now, which is incredibly satisfying.

Perhaps, I am more settled. Yet, the desire to write here hasn't stopped at all. I write regularly, even if the content is a bit different.

Could it possibly be that this web journal is a desire to hold onto this part of my personality...this little segment of me that actually enjoys titillating and engaging with others in a slightly decadent way...this little fragment of myself that is exhibitionist; that can imagine myself being amongst a roomful of men with me as the central object of their desire?? Could I really be that naughty inside my head???

And yet, I really don't like blatant comments. I don't want to hear dirty talk from just anyone. I am deeply discriminating about that. I may want to tittilate you but I don't really want you to tittilate me back. I have always been ultra fussy and I can count on my left hand the men over my life who have been allowed into my mind. I think there would be a finger or two left over, actually. I'm not looking for cyberspace lovers or anything remotely like that. If you like to read and you like me that is enough for me.

Am I and people like me nothing more than shameless hussies, in the intellectual sense...within the confines of our minds? And what do you call that? Erotica, pornography or simply taking the opportunity to express a part of ourselves which society is unsure about: full blooded women with huge appetites?

D/s from both sides now

I now have a great sense of compassion towards the feature writer. Imagine for a moment a person sitting amongst a high pile of notes and material trying to sift them down to the essence of the story, one lead following another until she feels she should not be a writing a 3,000 word article at all but instead, a book. A conversation with one person leads to a conversation with the next person and in the end she feels she is on a long road with no end and no way to turn back.

The conversations and discussions here tell of couples who have chosen a dynamic where the male is the top and the female, the bottom. We've chosen this, worked on this and refined this to make it the best possible outcome for us based on our natures, sexuality, needs and wants.

But, I now understand much better that there are D/s couples out there - many of them - who also want this dynamic but they choose for the female to be the top and the male to be the bottom. The male wants and needs to submit to the woman.

My discussion with someone well in the know assured me that there are a great many men who want to give control to the woman in their life; to still have a womanly woman but for her to wear the pants. Some men literally want this and enjoy their girls wearing the pants whilst others merely want that euphorically speaking. They all want the dynamic; the loss of control.

Like us, this goes to the nature of the two people involved. This can be a difficult process of discovery. This can mean that one partner is caught on the hop trying to understand her husband and his declaration to her. They are the same stories as ours but in reverse and the percentage of the population that want this is higher than I could ever have imagined.

It is also the same story as it pertains to therapy. Just as my therapist was concerned about my "submissive bubble" and chose to show me ways to communicate to assert myself, so many men who see therapists are discouraged from exploring this side of themselves; probably being shown similar communication strategies as I.

So much of this is still under the carpet. So few professionals are willing to openly consider and discuss the notion that a power exchange runs at the heart of many people's wants; natures; life experiences.

If you can offer anything to this discussion. especially in terms of professional advice you have received, please don't hesitate to comment or send me an email. Thank you. 

Feeding time

She could feel the hunger. She could sense the voracious appetite in his choice of words; his responses.

 Her reaction was instantaneous. Not a thought flickered through her head before she moved away to appease him. There was no slowing down the action here. No flirting with intention; desire; want. There would be no appertif tonight.

.

Here was a meat and potatoes man. He needed to feed; to bite into that bloody steak and swallow it; to have it fill his gut.

When he began to fill, he slowed down just enough to look up and into her eyes to see for himself if she also had been sustained. It was rarely his style to eat alone.  Although he fed off her, he needed to know that she was nourished in presentation of the plate.

Her pleasure was abundant.. His wants were her wants; or the other way round.  Who could say now which came first.

She served. He fed. Both left the table completely satisfied.  

Equality

I am noticing that there is a bit of a movement towards the idea that 'equality' is not the perfect and harmonious state it was cracked up to be. Instead of believing, for example, that partners in a marriage or in a relationship need to be equal, there are more people talking about embracing the differences - in skills, in ability, in knowledge and in the desire and ability to lead.

Of course, it is clear that I have come at this from the point of view that I am the one happy to be led. I don't want to be the boss. I think that is clear. Yet, I do do some things better than my husband. For example, I am better with routine and order on a day by day and every day and every year basis. I take responsibility for establishing the routine for the children, for the meals, for the social calender, for present buying and putting out the garbage. On the whole, things that need to be done repetitively don't entice my husband and they are better left to me. He doesn't want to do them so it works for both of us. The only proviso I would note is that he doesn't waste time telling me if he doesn't like the way I happen to do one of those tasks. If he thinks I haven't stacked the dishwasher the best possible way, he tells me. If he thinks the dogs need washing, he tells me. Like that.

Of course, we are not in the majority here. A lot of men don't (want to) take the lead and even if they did, they don't necessariy have wives or girlfriends or partners that would agree to this. Most people have areas of disagreement and they sort that out the best way they can. Sometimes, the only way to sort that out is to agree never to see one another again. Or, they meet somewhere in the middle. Or, they both remain frustrated with one another. There are any number of outcomes for these power struggles.

I am in contact right now with a woman who is very interested in promoting women led relationships. She feels that power struggles may result in a couple agreeing that the woman should take the lead; that 'equality' is not the solution necessarily. She is thinking here of women who are particularly competent; perfectly capable of running the show and she wonders out loud about this. Are there not men who secretly would love to hand the reins over to their wives; to pay the bills; make the decisions, arrange the party and the annual holiday; even make the sexual advances??

For my husband and I it will always be a bit of a blend. He's happy not to be responsible for various decisions, so long as I decide things in a way that he would agree with, and that I consult him when I am not certain about that. He knows, for example, that I might buy a platter without consulting him because he trusts my taste. He knows that I will not buy an expensive work of art without him because that has always been a decision we have discussed together first.

When I look around at the marriages I know, it really does seem like a lot of men are happy for their wives to take the lead. Or, they are frightened of them. I have considered this theory quite carefully and I think for many men, this is the case.

But, putting aside the techicalities for a minute and just staying with the basic theory...this notion of all people being equal is a bit simplistic, don't you think? Of course, we are all of equal worth in terms of all being human and all deserving of a vote and education and rights and so on. But, we do have different strengths and different skills and aptitude and knowledge and it makes sense to me to accept this and embrace it into our lives. If I speak French and my husband doesn't (I speak it incredibly badly but at least I speak it, whereas he knows less than 10 words) he is going to leave the communicating with French speaking people to me. It is, after all, our best chance of getting fed in a little French town where no English is spoken.  Whereas, I am going to leave the details of purchasing a major asset to him. It would be ludicrous to suggest I could do that better than him because he has skills and experience that I do not.

It is very challenging to some people, this sense that we should relax a bit about 'equality' and it has so many pitfalls in terms of being mismanaged that it seems almost too dangerous to go to that sort of thought. And yet, people are going to that sort of thought more and more. Because, if we don't, how else are we to explore engaging experiences with our partners?

I guess all I can really say for sure is that I got a whole lot happier and fulfilled when I gave up the notion of equality for the idea of equal, but different and accepted myself for the very feminine damsel that I am. I got happier when I wholly embraced my strong desire to be taken; dominated; held down; even mind fucked (well, especially 'mind fucked', actually).

In the same way, perhaps there are men out there hoping against hope that their women will express their desire to take the reins. We are all very different and varied as to how we tick and that is, surely, a very good thing.

Torn

I think (I certainly hope) that I have thanked all those very kind folk who have answered my questions for the article I must write. I am grateful to you all and also very humbled that you allowed me access into your lives. Reading the responses I have been moved to tears; choked up at some of the words you have used. "Are you proud of her?" I asked the dominants.

"Very very"
"Incredibly"

The love and pride and admiration were evident and each time I glowed that I have come to know such generous and giving souls. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Over the past two days I have also been moved at the generosity of experts of relationships with whom I have been in contact. Probably the most well known sex therapist researcher in the country was very generous with her material and contacts and an expert of BDSM in relationships was overwhelmingly kind in his efforts to assist me. I'm just a l'il student. I can't really give them any publicity of any sort, so these were acts of kindness and I felt moved by them.

It is wonderful on one level to have the opportunity to use my brain again. I really am enjoying and am challenged by what I am learning.

"I'm out of my comfort zone nearly all the time," I said to my husband.
"Good," he responded. "That is where you should be."

I absolutely tip my hat to you parents out there who manage to work and to cater to your family's needs and the needs of your partner. I struggle. It is the reason why I chose not to work, because I feel so conflicted some days. I so want to absorb myself in my learning but we are on school holidays here and there is no routine that can support me. The children come and go but they simply have this perception that "Mum" will be there to provide clean clothes, lovely meals, a clean home, a driver, a listening ear; a problem solver when needed, to name a few roles I have.

Just when I think the coast is clear to attend to my own needs the phone rings, or someone comes home, or I have to rush out to the market to get more fruits and vegetables or...something...

My husband doesn't care for when I leave his bed at dawn to go read and write and I don't function well late at night. And, during the days my house is busy; chaotic even...

So, I do what I can, when I can, in the best way that I can, and I hope for the best.

Interestingly, whilst all this buzz whirls about me, I feel a stirring for controlling and containing strategies that I haven't really embraced over the past few months. I wrote about it just  now in another capacity and I was full of plans to do this and that. Fun. Fun. Fun.

And, it suddenly, haphazardly and serendipitiously occurred to me that those sort of indulgences actually require consent. Well, usually they do. It's complicated. Asking for those things it is hoped I desperately want, usually require consent. Am I getting ahead of myself here?

But, after frustration must come relief, right? Whose going to deny the l'il doll that??!

Training

I get a little rush of blood to the head on Tuesdays.  Tuesdays is the day I submit my weekly assignment. It isn't critical that I do that. It could be Wednesday or Thursday for this particular tutor. He's not that fussed, but it works for me to keep to my old deadline from last semester. I need order. Who would have guessed?!

And, it is also an exciting moment to press that "submit" button because I can file away all those articles and documents and feel that I have a little time to myself; maybe only a minute or two, but long enough to venture over here and type away without a strict agenda. I need order but I also need creativity, you see.

So, this is what is on my mind. It occurred to me, via a response to one of the questions of my questionnaire that I think I finally have this notion of "training" figured out. The person answering the question wrote that in the early days he needed to be strict and didactic with his submissive but once he had her operating as he wanted her to do he could relax his approach; words to that effect.

As I was writing my response to the module just now I realized that my current tutor did exactly the same thing with us! At first, he picked us up on every last little mistake. He told me I had misused a comma! He noted every last tiny little mistake in a 1000 words response. There was the odd use of the word "good" but at first it was all about what we did wrong rather than what we did right. I, for one, took umbrance at his approach and made it my mission in life to show him that I could do things excellently. Over time, the tutorial responses to my work became much better until last week they were simply glowing; or as close to glowing as I think this particular man will ever get!

So, that's the deal!! Get them trained according to your rules, regulations and wants and then sit back and enjoy watching the show. Gotcha.

A Big Day

It had been an extraordinary beginning to the day for me; nothing less than transformational, physically and emotionally. I could have done with some time to process it alone. However, I had asked my youngest son the day before if we might go to the movies together and I didn't want to back out of that commitment.

The evening before, my eldest son had arrived with my husband's late Christmas present. How that evolved was that on Christmas Eve my eldest son came to me with the idea of ordering my husband a new set of golf clubs from America and I immediately agreed. If we had the money we would have gone out and bought a motorbike but short of that, a new set of clubs and bag would tickle his fancy, we felt sure.

And, they did. He was absolutely delighted with the clubs but I think he was especially touched that we did this for him. He considers himself the breadwinner (which he is) and that money ought to be spent on us and not him. So, that we should go to this effort for him meant a great deal to him. It was very clear to see that.

My eldest son has left today for another very remote location as his business life demands and my husband said, on receiving the golf clubs that when he got back they would play together. But, we both said to him, "Why not tomorrow?" And, that's when I said to my youngest son, "Why don't we see a film together, while they play golf?"

It was his choice of film. It was always going to be this way and when he said that 'War Horse' was his choice I did my best to prepare myself. I had seen the promos and knew that this was going to be hard emotional work.

And, it was. For well over 2 hours he and I worked hard to get Joey home safe, emotionally travelling with him over every obstacle in life he encountered; being taken on that journey and all the high and low moments of that amazing life of his. The film explored areas of trust, loyalty, courage, strength and good training and after my morning - those extraordinary highs and moments of happiness - this film was eating into every raw nerve; literally, in certain ways.

When the movie ended my son turned to me and said, "Can I have a hug?" And, that's when people started climbing over us to get out of their seats, not wanting to interfere with these two oddballs who were hugging one another tightly, wrapped in their own emotional space.

We were the last to leave the movie theatre and when we did neither one of us was ready to go home. We checked in at a restaurant walking distance away, ordered some food and began the process of discussing the movie; the elements of the film, the themes, the strategies Spielberg had used. It was with a great sense of pride that I realized that I had missed a symbolic element of the final scene and my son explained his theory to me. He will one day be a great creative force in this world. Watch this space!

As we discussed together, one big element of this very fine movie is the use of the words "big day". "Some days are big days, Joey, and this is your big day" said the boy to his horse.

And, what providence it should be that I should be sitting in a movie theatre watching a movie about Joey's big day on the very same day I had a big day of my own.

Translating for the doll

cindi writes most days now, sometimes more than once a day. (I have just had to correct her spelling, in fact, because as soon as I type 'cindi' she just takes over.) Since she just finished writing, this is an experiment to see if I can express what she said.

She said that wearing a big plug all night in bed doesn't necessarily allow her to sleep longer but that she wakes in a very different state of mind. She said that her thoughts on waking went to far more containment than she was experiencing and that she imagined her wrists tied, her mouth filled with a cock gag, her eyes covered.

She was aware, she wrote, that her pussycunt was throbbing and that each time she squeezed on the ass plug she felt a deep urge for relief, for orgasm, but that she lay there still and tried to imagine that she had no control over her wants whatsoever.

She said that she lay there very still and tried to imagine the man coming to her and asking how she slept and her feeling revitalized from the sleep. I believe she used the word "refreshed", possibly she also said "invigorated". I think she was trying to say that she felt 'good to go'. She had slept well and now it was time for her day to begin; that she was waiting for instructions; ready to see what the day had in store for her.

cindi felt small, for sure. She saw the man as her protector and the man who would look after her. She treated him with reverence.  May she rise? May she leave the bed? May she empty the asscunt? She asked all these questions as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do so and she was very happy within herself; very content.

I can only surmise that cindi revels in her limits and is just thrilled to be back in business. At least, that's the feeling I got.

Down the winding road

Restlessness follows me wherever I go right now, leaving me contemplative, with everything and nothing to say, all at the one moment. There is a sense of arousal and an indomitable spirit to make it down this winding road, but I am being blown about by feelings that I cannot quite catch or tame.

You just need some time.

This was the sage advice given to me. But, how long before I can tap into these feelings and then have a chance at conquering them? If I cannot even name them, where am I to go; what direction should I take?

The past six months or more have taken their toll. Perhaps the lesson I have learned is that I have no control over the winds of time. I do not know what is coming around the next corner and I will never know. Perhaps I needed to learn to surrender to time; to watch and wait and see what comes to me.

It is not my way. Something deep inside me tells me that I must make some running. I must demonstrate who I am and what I am made of. I must make and then seize opportunities. I must not be inert.

I want to understand what happened in the past year and yet words fail me.  I do know that I tapped into extraordinary strength and acceptance. My meditations took me to the highest mountains, to valleys and springs and caves that gave me a great deal of succour. On one memorable guided meditation I held onto that person that had guided me and sustained me, knowing that in a few moments I would need to set him free. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I searched for the strength to let him go and with every fibre of will, I let go.

I set you free.

And from an enormous and beautiful tree a huge flock of colourful birds burst free, guiding his spirit on the journey away from me. It had taken everything I had but I had done the right thing; the only thing to do.  No wonder ‘The Tree of Life’ meant so much to me.

Dolls are not meant to be alone. They survive but do they do not thrive under such conditions.  Like a toy with batteries, their energy depletes and sometimes they just stop and stare at nothing in particular; waiting, waiting for the day when their batteries are recharged. They have a plentiful supply of faith and quietly, they wait; hope; believe.

Is it really over?

I have asked this question a few times in my life. Sometimes, it is over when you least expect it. And yet, the desire to breathe a sigh of relief is held back. Emotions must catch up to the events.

Give it time.

But already, I can feel a stirring; a sense that this too shall pass and that there are very good days ahead. Life’s like that.

The pleasure of observation

I was minding my own business going through my tumblr account when this image came up on the computer screen and I had reason to pause. The girl with the blond plaits reminded me of one of my best friends at school. She wore her hair in just this way and her bottom was about that round as well. We too wore shirts tucked into woollen skirts with regulation panties but they weren't allowed to cane at our school, even though some teachers thought that a good idea.

I remember a nasty Science teacher who on the first day of a new term told us that he hoped that some of us were spanked after our fathers read our reports. And, I remember when I was just a little tiny girl watching a teacher pull her hand back and slap a girl's bottom and tell her to go back to class immediately, but the new teacher was from Ireland and didn't seem to know the rules.

However, I did read of school canings in books and Roald Dahl was quite descriptive of what happened at his school. Do you remember the nasty lady who owned the sweets shop?  Roald and  his pals had placed a mouse in the lolly jar, frightening the poor old lady and she went up to the school and asked for retribution. The Headmaster had the whole school come out and parade for the old bag and she pointed out the culprits and wanted to watch while they were being caned.

Harder, if you please, Headmaster. Harder!

We've a similar situation going on here in the pikki, unfortunately. The young lass has taken it upon herself to upset her Housemaster. For giving her a Saturday detention and making her miss the boat races she has got back at him by drawing marker on the back of his shirt as he walked by the quadrangle. But, on detecting the marker stain on his shirt that evening, he has had the whole school line up in the quadrangle and demanded to know who had committed the crime. Finally, Lucinda had come forward, but only after he had threatened to cane all of them until the truth was revealed.

Of course, Lucinda was taken away to receive her punishment. But, it was not to be given by the Housemaster this time. This time, it was the Headmaster who would cane and the Housemaster who would determine when he was satisfied with the results.

More please, Headmaster,  if you would be so kind. And, if the next 12 could be harder, please. Much harder.

Mantras

I have been trying to use mantras to assist me with my personal goals. I use a few mantras but right now I am focusing on one in particular:

I easily resist the temptation to eat empty foods.

What I mean by "empty foods" is any food that doesn't do me any good; that is not nutritious. This pretty much excludes all sugary foods, which happen to be my downfall.

I also read recently that you should try to live your life as if your guru or mentor or the special person in your life (whoever that may be to you) were watching you. As you open the fridge and reach for that chocolate bar and break off a piece, imagine that person watching you and perhaps it will have you returning the chocolate bar to the fridge and closing it tight.

A few months ago, I went to the fridge and picked up a chocolate bar. It was very cold and hard and as I broke into it, I broke a nail and that was a double dose of guilt for me. I made my way soon thereafter to the nail salon and it happened to be the Filipino man that day that beckoned me to sit down.

"Oh, what has happened here? How did this happen?"

Please don't ever count on me to lie for you because I suck at that.

"Well, I was breaking off a piece of chocolate, actually."

He didn't say anything but his silence and the look of disapproval on his face said it all. I had been bad.

The mantra is going quite well. It has saved me from a sugary fate any number of times in the past week or so. But, honestly, I can't think of anything better than the dominant saying,

"No sugar without express permission."

That's something I really could completely respect (even though it may be best for him to follow up regularly...)

The Reins

I woke frustrated; annoyed; out of sorts. I announced that I was going to get up; that I couldn’t sleep. He pulled me into him; said to settle down; that he couldn’t understand what had got into me.

I said that I thought it best I get up and get on with the painting. He said that he didn’t want me up on the ladder. I said that in that case I would continue with the low bits.

He said that I was obsessing about the "bloody painting". And, why had I spoken back to him last evening? 

And, why was this the fifth time he had mentioned the encounter? Did I go over and over the times he lost his temper with me, I wanted to know.

Ahhhh, but we talk about my behaviour, don’t we? I can’t resort to speaking of his behaviour when it is my behaviour that is the behaviour to be analysed and most importantly, contained.

“I made a mistake but you keep bringing it up,” I said.

“Because you haven’t acknowledged it. That is the first time you acknowledged it.”

“Well, I made a mistake. I acknowledge it.”

“That’s all I want. That you acknowledge your behaviour as unacceptable.”

By now, I’m fuming internally. It is useless to argue with him. I just need to get myself under control. I go under the covers, literally.

He dresses; closes the bedroom door.

Five minutes later, he opens the door and tells me to sit up and not to say a word.

He puts down a tray; muesli, yoghurt and a cut up peach; half an English muffin with jam; a mug of tea.

“If you say one word you’re in the corner for an hour and if you spill a drop you’ll get your bottom spanked."

He leaves; closes the door behind him.

I monitor how I am feeling; notice it; not judge it; just as I have been doing for the past few days. For some reason, I feel a great need to sit with my feelings and try to understand how they are controlling me right now; how I can’t quite get a grip on what is going on internally, in my mind.

How do I feel now, I ask myself? Well, honestly, I feel much better for him taking the reins and affirming his place in the saddle.

It’s freaky.

P.S. I ate my breakfast and then slept for hours and hours and hours...

Perfectionism + Procrastinaton = Control

I’m writing this dressed in very old clothes. The reason why I am dressed in very old clothes is that I intend to paint the garage. I’ve hated this old brown brick garage at the holiday house for ten years and a year ago I convinced my husband to paint it a mellow shade of white.

 

We went into town and chose the colour. It was mercilessly easy. I remember thinking it odd that it was so easy. Back home, I got into my old clothes. Of course, I have heard my husband say many times that preparation is everything and so I accepted that I needed to wait for him to do this to his satisfaction. As I recall, I went back inside and did other things that day.

The next day, I donned my old painting style clothes again but he said that he thought it best that he do the painting. I recognized his need for control; for perfection and order and I could clearly see that in  his mind, if he were to pass over a smidgeon of control to me, even under tight supervision of my job, it was going to cause him a lot of distress. I went back inside and he painted a very small section of the garage before we went back to the city. My wish to paint the ugly garage would have to wait until next summer.

Fast forward twelve months and I sit here typing in my old clothes. Yesterday, I asked if I may paint the garage and in an irritated way he responded, “Yes. Yes, you can paint it tomorrow.”

I woke today to discover that some men had arrived to do a construction job. But, I can be a bit dim sometimes and I didn’t make the connection right away – that these men threatened my ability to paint. On went the old painting clothes.

“May I please paint the garage today?”

“Well, I don’t want any drips. I don’t want a wall of drips, you understand?”

“Absolutely. I will be very careful. Do you think you could set me up now?”

“I am focusing on doing this first,” he responded (He was reading a book.)

I thought it wise not to say anymore in the hope that he meant he just wanted to get to the end of the chapter which I could see was close at hand. About 10 seconds later he slammed the book shut.

“I can’t stand it!” he said.

I thought he was going to say that he couldn’t stand that I was badgering him but what he meant was that he couldn’t stand the fact that the men weren’t doing their task with the precision and perfection that he would apply to task.

Off he went to talk to them. It was clear he was in no hurry to set me up and I am not competent enough, he made clear, to stir the paint can well enough. It was one of the reasons he gave for telling me I had to wait to be set up.  Whilst waiting I sent an email off to my tutor, got onto the Discussion Board and got involved there; made the bed; made lunch; read my book.

Time wore on. My husband returned, not entirely satisfied but not as agitated either. He ate the sandwich I had made for him. We chatted.

“May I please paint the garage now?” I asked sweetly.

“Yes. Yes you can. Just a minute.”

Half an hour has gone by and he has picked up the book and is reading again.

And I ask you, what do you make of this?

A. He is stalling for time. He has no intention of allowing me to paint the garage.

B. He intends to paint the garage himself one day in the future but certainly not to day with me dressed in my painting clothes.

C. He is a control freak and a perfectionist. 

D I am a saint.

E. All of the above.