fucking socks
worked all day. picked up the bab. took him home. played with him, got him ready for bed, calmed him down.
tired.
boy comes home.
we say hello cause little cat still not asleep. we ask for a hug. he getting changed.
comes in, about to hug, looks at my feet and roars with anger, outrage and disbelief "why are you wearing my socks?"
what the fuck? what the fucking fuck? why the fuck did you suddenly start fucking shouting at me about a pair of pissing socks? did you really want so badly to have another fucking shitty evening? why do you fucking care whether I am indeed wearing your socks? why is it such a fucking issues that you feel the need to shout about it?
and don't tell me to stop fucking swearing. it's all I have to illustrate how pissed off you shouting about something so fucking pathetic has made me.
twat.
he's cooking dinner, I don't fucking want to eat it, I don't want to be in the same fucking room as him.
he said he didn't shout, he was just asking why I was wearing his socks. I don't think he knows how angry he sounds. yes I know how fucking angry I sound and it's because I am indeed fucking angry.
how can you spit words out with that much venom and not mean it/know you are doing it?
doesn't my reaction to what you thought was an innocuous comment tip you off at all? do you just think that I am that mentally unstable that anything could trigger me to suddenly flip into shouting and swearing at you? do you really think it just comes out of the blue for no reason?
yes I really think you do.
so what can we do about it?
I don't fucking know.
on the bright side little cat thinks us screaming at each other is hilarious and was laughing his head off. so probably not getting emotionally scarred by the fighting just yet.
