The funeral was attended alone because of the children. Neither would really be likely to conform to my family's expectations of behaviour and the alternative of having them hang out at my grandfather's house in an unfamiliar city was... well, let's just say it made sense. It meant that I was unique among the mourners for being alone (well, mourner may be a bit of a strong term for me) but hey - this is what I signed up for in our marriage I guess. The thirtieth was similarly utilitarian in our case - it was starting at 7pm and was an hour's drive from home. There was no way that our children would have coped with that, if they are up past their bedtime then all of their pent up evil spills forth with vitriol.
|Yeah, this is pretty much me at school. Except I had 20/20|
vision and was male. Other than that, well, you get the
idea. Male socially awkward images didn't... well, I wasn't
a nerd and this sort of thing seems more me.
Tilly raised the possibility of getting a tattoo this evening, the drum beat of the title, which is fine. I said "I don't really know what I'd think of you having another tattoo". She replied: "You don't have to think anything, it would be my decision."
It's not mine to wear clothes designed for women, that can be removed and require no permanent changes, but making permanent and public changes are her preserve to do as she wishes. I smell double standards at work here.
|Except we don't share a bed.|
Hell, we don't share a room.
Tilly's the man, BTW.
Because, you know, I needed to explain
I've babbled about that before here. I guess I still labour under the misapprehension that women want more emotional sex. That there is fun to be had aside from the act of penetration. But I'm a man, what do I know? A quick shag is all we men want, right? Dirty and swift - cum and it's all over, turn over and go to sleep. I don't understand why anyone would want that. I always thought that there would be room for play, for intimacy and for experimentation in the bedroom. Silly me. A few minutes of missionary and we're done here. Anything else is creepy. This from a woman who is, or was, bisexual. I can't work out what else has caused this shift in her appetite or the continued refusal to do anything about it beyond the odd hug here and there - we don't even kiss these days - apart from me.
Ah, plus ca change. Have some music.