By BERN MORLEY
We women are quite wonderful really. We have the ability to maintain our rage and hide it away for just the right amount of time so it can be released with maximum effect at precisely the right time. This, my friends, is truly a gift.
I don’t find I get the opportunity to maintain the rage nearly as much as I once did. When I was younger and unmarried, I had a boyfriend who was often kind of rude to me in social situations. I would go along with the game, keep a straight, often giddy face and say nothing.
Nothing until we got home. And then I would unleash hell. Ahh, those were the days… I bet he misses me.
However, Phil and I are pretty much the masters of the silent fight. We rarely, if ever, have an all-out shout out loud, call the cops, argument. We keep quiet about it, yet are both so in tune with one another, we know exactly the minute something is up.
So there are nights of going to bed and retreating to our own sides of the bed. Or speaking to each other in limited statements, such as “Jack just shat his pants” or “the toilet is blocked”. And often I wonder if this is healthy. I’ve got girlfriends who pretty much just lay it all on the table.
If something bothers them, well then, in front of all and sundry, they will pretty much have it out. Now this of course makes us, the people they’ve invited over for a BBQ, a little uncomfortable. But hey, at least the rage is not being maintained. Is this the best way though?
Probably my biggest moment of suppressed anger started on the 2nd of December, 2006. Why do I remember the date so well? Oh well, possibly because it was the day before I gave birth to our 3rd child, Jack.
I was about 100 years pregnant and ready to pop. No seriously, it was my due date. It also happened to be the night of our annual street party.
So, feeling AOK, we walked up the hill to the party, socialised and I left Phil to continue cooking sausages and shooting the shit and took the other two kids home around midnight.
Around 2am, I heard the scraping of a badly manoeuvred BBQ onto the deck and felt my husband flop down beside me into the bed. That’s when the smell of a thousand beers hit me. Ha, I thought to myself, he’ll be visiting the bathroom regularly tomorrow. He never got that chance.