OK, now I have my entrée into the topic of Brother Abacus. I wonder if somebody has already written a theme song for that brief, ill-fated experience? The chorus of which would be something like “Come here, come here, Go ‘way, go ‘way.” Maybe I should come up with a line of greeting cards for those of us who have to deal with passive-aggressive folks.
“Sure, I’d be happy to clean my room.” [inside] “Sometime after the Second Coming.”
“Marriage counseling is a great idea!” [inside] “But don’t expect me to do anything differently.”
“Mm, I really like your kisses.” [inside] “And hers. And hers. And hers.”
“You will never have to slap my hands. I respect you too much for that.” [inside] “I don’t want to lose my temple recommend. Your tender feelings don’t even enter the equation.”
On the train last Monday night, I picked Trainman’s brain. Also MsSMU’s. I simply do not understand Brother Abacus’s behavior. I don’t know if he is intrigued because I am so happy as a single [i.e., without him], or he wants to start something up again, or he is so into mind-games that he doesn’t notice what he’s doing, or he’s genuinely naive. [Or some of all of the above. We humans are rarely single-minded and transparent. And I suspect that much of the time, none of us fully understands why we do the things we do.]
MsSMU’s take? Simple: the man is a jerk. I don’t quite think so, though he certainly behaved like one when we stopped dating. I think he is an essentially decent man who makes choices that wound, out of a desire to avoid unpleasantness.
Trainman’s take was more cautious, I think because men seem hesitant to judge one another as women do. He factored in the widowhood, the very human wish to feel desirable, the reluctance to be alone, and several other disparate elements and synthesized them into an elegant, compassionate, and well-reasoned whole that made sense to me while still not giving me a concrete answer.
I opined that maybe it was a case of “Better the devil you know...” They both snorted.
Maybe I should just take Brother Abacus aside sometime and tell him that I do not understand why he seems to be [intermittently, at least] seeking out my company, that while I have forgiven him and we are not enemies, we are also not friends and it’s no use acting as if we were.
Trainman snorted again when I said that Brother Abacus’s hugging privileges were revoked long ago and that the last time he tried to kiss me [New Year’s Day, 2007, the day after that disastrous Family Home Evening at his house when I found out that another sister in attendance had driven all the way up from San Antonio to see him], he was presented with my cheek.
Trainman groaned and dropped his head toward the table when I said that Brother Abacus was at the head of my “not even if he was on fire” list. [But he came back up, laughing.]
Enough about the bean-counter. ‘Tis the season to be jolly.
Hey Middlest: lookie here! These are the faux argyles I was telling you about last night. I think this might be the perfect pattern for the purple alpaca that followed me home from the Knit Night sock yarn swap. [Along with a generous handful of Micki’s handmade caramels, which I am enjoying for breakfast.]
I will head out to the store in a little while, to pick up the rest of the makings for spanakopita for the ward Christmas party tonight. But first I am heading over to the couch with my knitting, to listen to the KnitPicks podcast.
- Four years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!