After his bike ride to Demolition Coffee -- complete with a couple of pictures, to further include me in his life -- Tony and I switched from communicating via email to text the rest of Saturday, July 31, 2010. It was nice to receive so much of his focus, it being a weekend and all.
That evening, I went dancing in Roanoke with friends; Mr. Gattuso went to the play “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” in Petersburg with pseudo wife.
It was the first time I really got annoyed with him about his girlfriend.
See, for weeks now he’d been leaking why he disliked her and insisting he wanted to move out. Only, I was beginning to realize the many things she’d “make” him do hardly rated “torture.”
Sure, shoe shopping, recycling, fine dining, art gallery gallivanting, and attending live performances of Shakespeare, probably aren’t top o’ the list of fun for a guy, however they don’t constitute abuse.
Ah, and his “money” problems. Tony kept saying he couldn’t afford to decamp. Well no wonder, when he was regularly dropping mad dough on the above. He was also purchasing guns, ammo, tools, motorcycles and parts, for recreation. Not quite the actions of a tormented man desperate to leave his persecutor.
Actually, none of that truly perturbed me. What truly perturbed me was my State Policeman feeling he had to BS me about his relationship with her; if he was content with her, fine, tell me, I don’t care. Even that, the discrepancies, I could overlook. What set me off though was, that night, he got aggravated with me because he didn’t think he had my undivided and immediate attention. While he was out on yet another date with her! It was absurd.
I didn’t understand why he had to give me grief over my not responding to every message he sent and being unable to Gchat with him the moment he desired. I surmised he was suffering a guilty conscience for dishing me faux helpings from his Brenda-sucks smorgasbord.
Despite my reservations about the validity of his claims -- periodically questioning him on his contradictoriness -- for a long time I continued to succumb to his pity pot of poor mes.
In the far future, during a phone call with him, my offer to assist him financially so he could gain independence would lead to me fully hashing it out with Tony about the realities of his living situation and pseudo wife. Following it I would never again believe anything he told me about her, or them in yoke.
In the interim, when I finally made it back in front of my computer in the wee hours, my temper flared. Moments before, he’d texted me he had “to walk on eggs” until he had his own place -- otherwise “SHE” would “go psycho” on him. When I replied with a “feh” Tony responded if I didn’t sympathize, I’d be forcing him to do the same around me too. I gave him hell-and-a-third in chat.
The result? I went to bed still crazy-in-love with him.
