The Brothers dob me in

The Brothers have been telling tales. When I got back from a governor's meeting last evening, and went upstairs to finish putting the boys to bed, I heard a hushed conversation going on in the hall and then OH and the two of them filed out of the front door. I asked where they were going. 'For a walk,' OH replied. 'What now, in the rain?' I quizzed. 'And aren't you tired?' (I can't help from getting protective even though I hate his guts.) 'I haven't seen you for days!' But they slunk out anyway. I knew they were going to the supermarket because DBrother was carrying the broken plastic laundry basket that we keep our recycling in and it was full. OH always insists on taking our recycling to the supermarket even though the council collect it from outside our house every Monday. Such a waste of petrol, time, money etc etc. I can't get a sensible answer from him for why he does it. Same as I can't get a sensible answer regarding why he does 'lottery calculations', but hey.

What joy! I made myself a hot chocolate and Baileys and went and sat in the luxury of my own living room, on the sofa, for a whole nineteen minutes, after which period of time they got back. Bugger! He might at least have dropped them at 'theirs' for the night. Fat chance. They came in and sat down and I just couldn't be bothered to communicate so I went into the kitchen to see what they'd been up to. OH was filling a pan with oil ahead of cremating some sea bass. He turned to me and accused me of being unkind to them, telling them to get their own coffee, being generally unwelcoming etc etc. He then said he'd just seen a friend of mine in the street who had asked how I was coping, which had shocked him. I tried to explain that all my friends were wondering how I was coping in these pretty stressful circumstances. 'But how do they know what's going on?' he asked. 'Because I've emailed everyone I know asking if they need any decorating doing, like you told me to!' I retorted. (I'll be fu**ed if I'm going to tell him I'm blogging about it. For now.) 'Well, don't tell anyone else!' he said. (Oops, I've just emailed the Guardian Family Section :)) 'Why? Is this a secret?' I asked. Actually, I shouted. 'Yes, it's my secret!' he shouted back. 'Well you're doing a completely shit job of hiding it!' I hissed, and re-took my position in the dining room. I may need to get a beanbag.

***

Trying to get on with these men in difficult circumstances leads me to a few reflections today on human interaction. And what is it about some people that makes you warm to them, and what it is about others that makes you twitch with irritation when you come into their presence.

Some of this is not rocket science, clearly. We sat down to eat the other evening and the way OBrother was eating with his mouth open was enough to make most people want to leave the table. They were both sitting hunched over their food, shovelling it in as fast as they could, elbows on the table, and I knew that I would be visibly recoiling if we were anywhere public. I know this makes me sound like a bitch. I'm just being honest which I guess of one of the semi-confessional intentions behind this blog. I've always been an open type and to be honest I prefer other open types. I can't stand mysterious people. Unless it's refined mysterious, I guess, in the form of Johnny Depp. How benile.

But what is it about OBrother that makes me not want to spend any time with him at all? He is quite forceful and I guess a tad impatient. He expects to speak and not listen. He is very opinionated. He is fussy. He isn't English!

Yesterday I bought him some chocolate digestives. The following brief dialogue took place.
'OBrother, I've you some of those chocolate biscuits I remembered that you like!'
'For breakfast?'
'Yes!'
[No comment]

And later:
'OBrother, would you like a coffee?'
'You haven't got any mugs.'
'Yes, I have! Would you like one?'
'I just went into the kitchen to get myself a coffee and there aren't any mugs.'
'I know the dishwasher is on, but I have other mugs in the cupboard. Would you like a coffee or not?
'Ok.'

He is making huge strides with his language skills though. And literal strides, as he moves around the house, highlighting domestic vocabulary: 'ceiling', 'electric lamp', 'wood floor'. I have so far refrained from telling him to be quiet and am working very hard on a casual smile, which is something I don't really do. I have, however, told him not to ask me to help him to learn English because it is one aspect of living with OH that has been total hell over the last seventeen years, and it would bring this house of cards down around us in no uncertain terms.

So he is now constantly accosting Babe with phrases from his phrase book to see if he can understand him.
'Are you going through the window?'
'Is this mashed potato?'
'Have you got any change?'

This evening Babe asked me when they are moving out.

After dinner yesterday OBrother decided to start shouting what are probably listed as key phrases in his study guide. 'So!'*, 'Oh no!', 'Come here now!' - to which Babe2 responded by running straight over to him, looking scared. And then he asked me why he'd done that. Doh!

*When OBrother asked OH what 'So' means, OH informed him that it was a very rude thing to say, as it's like saying 'What's it to you?'. Obviously that is only the case if you say it in a 'What's it to you?' tone of voice. In the same way as you could make it sound like an invitation for a shag if you said it lavisciously. I'm only mentioning this as a teeny-tiny example of how irritating and confusing OH can be. More on that soon!

Thank-you for bearing with me today, while I have a bit of a foul-mouthed, angry and unkind rant. I have really laughed a lot writing this and think I needed to. More soon!