Himself hasn't figured too prominently so far, he has kind of receded into the background. Like his hair. Oops, shouldn't say that, he's a tiny bit sensitive about it. He's also sensitive about his greys, so I won't mention those either. Heh.
Himself does actually recede as much as possible. He likes to stand back and observe rather than get involved. He blanks his features to make his face unreadable. He is so laid back he is almost prone. Which is fun when we argue, him all quiet and brooding, far more "Heathcliff" than Mr Brown. Although he has never killed anyone, despite that receding hair and
current goatee making him look like a made-for-TV film villain. And he doesn't wander the moors crying for his lost love, except when we go on walks and I wander away. So maybe not Heathcliff then.
See? Villain material, definitely.
We are polar opposites. He rarely shouts. Neighbours think I have Tourettes. He is tall. I'm... not tall. He is comparatively slim. I'm.... not slim. He could sell snow to Canadians, I fall for any sob story and give away my car. People won't approach him for directions, I hear the life story of anyone waiting for a bus. He can fix anything, I'm all for "getting a man in" to
change a tap. He is tolerant, I'm impatient. Good job opposites attract.
He's not perfect, by any stretch of the imagination. Heck, he was an hour late for our first date. He is a horrific driver, tailgating and changing lanes willy-nilly without indicating. Exactly the same things he shouts at other drivers for, funnily enough. I hate being a passenger with him, I spend the whole drive hitting my imaginary brake with my right foot.
Today we had a row. It's not an uncommon occurrence, and I only kicked him three times until he fell over whimpering. I don't actually remember exactly what the argument was. Suffice to say that I was right and he wasn't. It had got to the "icily polite" stage. We weren't actually inflicting bodily damage anymore, but nor had we drawn a truce. Neither of us sulk. Sulking involves ignoring someone else, and we are both incapable of remaining silent in the face of utter stupidity (me) or of not trying to defend a losing quarter (him). So, icily polite, teeth gritted, smiles on the mouth but nowhere near the eyes. You know how it goes.
Let's see how many of you will understand this. My car needed petrol, and we were, um, "discussing" who would fill it. Not in the usual "go do it yourself you lazy slob" way but in the "no, I'll do it, I insist" way. He had offered to go, with a tiny sparkle of triumph is his eyes, since he knows I hate going out late and I hate filling up with petrol. However, had I accepted his offer, he would have tacitly won the argument you see. I would have given way before him and - more importantly - put myself in his "debt" by letting him do me a favour. I would, indeed, "owe" him. However, if I were to go, I would win the argument. I would have stood up for feminism, refused to become the little woman bending before the lord of my home. I would have done something distasteful, rather than ask for help. Yes, I would cut off my nose to spite my face. Smell is an over-rated sense anyway, who needs it?
Have you ever seen two adults slapping at each others hands to get the car keys, bumping each other out of the way with their hips, squabbling and shoving to get to the car first? It ain't pretty.
I won. Hah!
PS... Some tiny exaggeration for comic effect may have taken place here. May. I'm just saying.
PPS. I still won.