Tuesday, August 18, 2009

crazy town

Since I promised, here is the aforementioned tale of Crazy Town.

Simcoe Day dawned sunny and work-free, so Andrew and I decided to spend it giving the house a much needed cleaning. He started on the laundry and I began the vacuuming.

The longer I worked the more exhausted I became and although giving a 2-second thought towards what time on the month it was might have saved us what happened next, I did not. I just kept working. I was in lock down: vacuuming, mopping, washing dishes...

In fact, I brutishly washing dishes when Andrew, sitting on the couch, looked up from his laptop and asked, "Are you ready to go to Walmart?"


For the next 5 minutes all Andrew did was stare at me, bless him. I continued scouring dishes in silence. Stare. Scour. Stare.

I couldn't articulate why my reaction was disproportionate to the question (although, logically, I knew it was), or why I was actually upset (although, emotionally, I could have just as easily cried instead of yelling), or why Walmart was the catalyst of such malice (although, reasonably, enough facts exist about the conglomerate that make me wary). I only knew I was miserable and anything could have set me off. Including Walmart.

Andrew's silent stare (which he later informed me was a calculation of What Just Went Wrong - an internal dialogue that sounded like: "Was it Walmart we were going to?...Was it somewhere else?...What was the last thing I said before that?...Is it the dishes?...") was the second best thing he could have done. I later informed him the best thing would have been to hug me, perhaps against my will, until I chilled out.

It's the elephant in the room, once a month, that neither spouse wants to acknowledge. One for fear of being exposed, mocked, and/or stereotyped. The other for fear of being drawn, quartered, and/or disemboweled. Premenstrual syndrome. And using the word "syndrome" makes it so much more palatable, doesn't it? Like, "I'm sorry. Your wife has fallen prey to an incurable syndrome."

The day following that fateful Simcoe Day, once I had some perspective, I apologized for my outburst. "I think I took a trip to Crazy Town," I admitted. More like won the race to become the Mayor of Crazy Town.


Seth Kimberley Graham Hunter said...

I love crazy town

Andrew G said...

Ha ha... it wasn't that bad, La.

And, you can go to Crazy Town anytime. I'll do my best to tip toe or hug.

Anonymous said...

Hello Sarah,

You do not know me, but I discovered your blog through a bit of blog-surfing from a friend's brother's blog (B. Peterson). Anyway, I just thought I would let you know that I very much enjoy reading your thoughts, ideas and reflections on anything and everything, and that your article on Crazytown really hit home. I'm actually visiting that very place today. Ha! Ha! I have learned to warn my husband ahead of time that THE day is coming. He generally finds a way to turn my tears into laughter, even if it means putting on a little dance for my amusement (which he did just this morning!), and I now let him do so instead of stubbornly hanging on to my bad mood. ;)