Ships in the night. Or something.

So. At half past ten last night they did go off to sleep in their own place. Just after I'd gone into the living room and said, 'I'm going to bed now then. Maybe see you tomorrow, OH?'. That comment was of course shot at him, not them, and I needn't have said it, but I am feeling fairly fed up with him. They did already have their shoes on by then, in case you were wondering whether I'd scared them off or not.

OH is being really cold and grumpy with me and I am considering looking into my legal rights if I decide the time has come to separate. (Bear in mind that a good 10% of what comes out of my mouth is hyperbole and exaggeration.) He is behaving like this, I presume, because I am not doing enough to welcome or help his brothers. Coming as he does, from a culture where hospitality is everything, (and intelligence in very short supply) (yes! strike me dead for writing that, I dare you!)(I just mean 'logical thinking', really, I suppose) (and I know I say that with a western egocentric perspective but I am only human) the way I am behaving is just not good enough.

Don't get me wrong, OH is not generally a particularly traditional type, but where his family is concerned, there is a whole lot of 'how things should be done' to contend with. I do in fact notice that as he gets older, he gets more and more like this. I am so tired of his complaints against my lack of culinary skills - in the Greek department, of course - that I have pretty much refused to cook for him, which makes him moan even more. It is such a shame, because I really believe that the older I get, the more open-minded and self-reflective I become. I am more than happy to consider criticism launched at me, even if it hurts, as long as it is reasonably expressed. But I can't be doing with being negatively compared with a community of women from another country and culture. Which creates some, well, dynamic tension, shall we say, in our household.

At present you can, of course, cut the tension with a knife round here some moments. Which is entirely as predicted. I'm not perfect and the Brothers are really driving me up the wall at times. So it is not entirely surprising that my general demeanor is managing to convey that I am royally pissed off with what's going on.

And just as you are thinking I am a bit mean after all, I forgot to mention that although they slept in their own beds last night, they were back here at half past seven this morning. Yes, I was just coming out of the kitchen stark naked with a cup of tea in my hand when the key turned in the lock of our front door and I had to bolt upstairs, spilling it as I went. When I told them, last night, that I'd arranged for us to go and look at a friend's window that needs fixing after school today, I observed that they were struggling to tear their eyes away from the football on the telly. They did not say thank-you, that's for sure. I think one of them said 'ok'. That was OBrother, who at 7.30 this morning said they had come round to see my friend's window before school.

Poor sods. They thought they were really trying, getting here before school. Instead they got a semi-vitriolic complaint and strong suggestion that they go and buy themselves some coffee and sugar from the corner shop and breakfast from now at home.

You see the problem, right? We're all trying really hard. In totally incompatible ways that are leading me, at least, to an early grave.

I have already have mentioned how aware I am that there is a gulf in understanding between their culture and ours. No matter how much I seek to be understood, I cannot be. Anymore than I can understand them. Not on all levels, or across the board, of course. But... I think the following example kind of encapsulates it:

When the brothers and I had a heated conversation the other night, after OH had gone to bed, OBrother said, 'Sophia, if you think you're a good woman, doing all you do for the community etc, how come you can't help your husband's family and have them come live with you when they are in need?' I was floored. Answers on a postcard, please.

I am in fact asking myself this all the time. I worked for a major development agency for nearly twelve years. I think of myself as a giving individual who has the world's Poor somewhere on my agenda. So why can't I just let whoever wants to come and live in my house and sleep on my floor and eat my food and watch my telly and make noise and have cheesy smelly feet that Babe keeps moaning about and and and and and?

I guess part of me wants to quiz their level of desperation when, instead of going to the Greek church on Sunday to network, as I suggested, they went into town and bought trainers.