Preposterous!

(Preposterous! Isn’t that a great word?)

Saturation continues here …

It served Dick to overlook my relationship with alcohol, whatever he thought it might be, because he realized he couldn’t compete with it. Alcohol was the wrapping on the package that was ME. I made this very clear from the beginning of our relationship when, on more than one occasion, he suggested I might prefer tea or water with dinner rather than another glass of wine. Snort. Yeah. RIGHT.

“Well, Dick, How about No. That’s preposterous.” He never argued with me and eventually gave up altogether.

Sometimes, because I found him so insanely boring and not even my inebriation could convince me that he was good company, I would turn him down for dinner or tell him he couldn’t stop by to say hello. I might say, “No, I don’t want to see you tonight. I have to clean my bathroom.” And he’d believe me, but then continue to try to convince me that I wanted to see him. Who does that? He would resort to extremely unattractive measures to get even an hour of my time and to this day I do not know why. Perhaps he simply couldn’t handle my rejection…

So, I’d let him blather on for a minute before finally interrupting him with something like, “You’re hilarious. Congratulations on being the first asshole in my life ever to try to convince me I want to do something with you that I just said I don’t want to do. Like I don’t know what the fuck I want. No, you can’t come over. No, I don’t want to watch you eat food. I’ve got a glass of wine in one hand and the TV remote in the other, now piss off.”

Instead of being insulted by this – he’d laugh. My comments and seething sarcasm only cemented his resolve to see me. He saw me as a challenge and it blew my mind. Instead of simply breaking up with me for being an obnoxious, drunk bitch, he was turned on by it. I became something for him to conquer.

It took no time at all to create an extremely twisted hate-hate relationship that included lots of sex and conversations, if you can call them that, littered with sarcastic exchanges. They eventually devolved into snide comments about my drinking, yet he never stopped buying it for me. He was the perfect enabler. He gave me exactly what I wanted – loads of wine.

In hindsight, I can see now how quickly he learned to say, “Hey! I want to see you tonight. Can I come by with some wine?” “Well, sure you can come over with some wine!” I was always quick to pick up on the words he chose to use when communicating with me. And I would never turn down an opportunity to increase my liquor supply. On the few occasions he did show up empty handed, like I wouldn’t notice, I wouldn’t even let him in my house. He’d have to go back out and return with some wine. Not a single bottle of wine – some wine. A double bottle would usually shut me up.

Published by Jennifer

I've finally found my happy place in sobriety. Yay! Go Me!

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