The hostess with the

The hostess with the

And so my anguish, rage and confusion limp on. This time accompanied by my wild imagination and paranoia. His friend is in town for a week before she jets of to the other side to the world. She is a good friend, she came to our wedding and he has known her before I was ever on the scene. However, if I am being honest with myself I have always harboured a little ‘something’ about this relationship. In the early days of our relationship he used to rave about her so much, one day I just burst into tears in front of him, I am not sure why. Maybe I was jealous, I am not sure. He somehow reassured me that I was his woman and his friend was just his friend. I am somehow accepted that if I was going to be his girlfriend then I would have to get used to the fact that he had female friends. And so life moved on.

She came to visit this week, our first visitor since we have been married, I think, with the exception of family. The plan was just for an evening meal and a catch up. And it was exactly that, she was as sweet and as lovely as ever. But my internal dialogue was running something like this…

“Please go home. Please go home. It’s late, I’m tired and I want to spend time with my husband who am really angry at right now. I am finding it hard to keep up this pretence of niceness and civility. Why are showing off your bloated belly. Why are you rubbing your belly in front of my husband like that? Why are you talking about food babies? Please stop rubbing your belly like that, it’s upsetting me. It’s late, when are you going home? ¬†Oh, you are not going home tonight? You are staying here? Fine, I’ll get the room ready. What you mean you did not bring any clothes to wear? And now your are wearing my husband’s T-shirt to sleep in? This is too much for me. Good night”

Of course, none of this leaks out – I am the hostess with the mostess. Even to the point where I ask my husband to get the inflatable double mattress from the garage. He refuses point blank to go outside, so I get the mattress, helped by his friend. She is very sweet and this fills me with guilt for feeling this way. I leave her to put the mattress and fresh beddings together. While I am in the back room talking to my husband, I hear her in the kitchen washing up. My internal dialogue starts running again and propels me to remove the sponge from her hands and complete the post dinner washing up myself. She dries and puts away the dishes and I am wracked with guilt. It’s all too much for me and I lock myself in the bathroom and take a long shower (I also dealing with my monthly friend too).

When I emerge from the bathroom I am feeling a bit more human but this is short-lived when I find out that she has not brought any clothes with her to sleep in (but why would she?) and she is going to wear one of my husbands tee-shirts. Just about the final straw for me in my tired, confused, hormonal brain. Yet, I find myself hugging her goodnight and climbing into my own bed feeling like the world’s craziest woman.


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