Perceptive.

They say that travelling with someone is a good way to learn about them. They're right.

We were on our way home, taking the 'scenic' route, which added about 6 hours to the trip. It was already suppertime. We came to the town where my granny used to live, and I got unexpectedly choked up, realising I hadn't been there since the funeral. That's the first time T has seen me cry.

I explained. Granny and I were close.

T looked at me, head cocked, and said "do you need to visit the grave?"

I would never have asked, as we were running so late, but I really, really did.

What a sweetie.

Days before, we had gone to introduce T to my father. Neither of us were looking forward to that. Calling my relationship with Dad 'strained' would be equivalent to calling the Rockies 'a few hills'. Outright combative would be a little more accurate.

We went for dinner, and Dad picked up the tab, then tucked a wad of bills into my pocket. Driving away from the restaraunt, I shook my head.

"I hate that," I told T.

"Does he show he cares by giving people money?" T asked

Perceptive.

"Yeah," I admitted, "and he shows he's pissed off by writing us out of the will."

"Well," T mused, "if that's the only way he knows how to say he cares, why not just accept it?"

Touche...

Forgetting

They say that if women could accurately remember the pain of childbirth, no-one would ever have a second child. I have no experience with that sort of thing, but I am thinking that if I ever remembered the pain of dating, I would never have another boyfriend.

It's not even pain, so much as pain-in-the-ass. With M., it was that he never put the toilet seat down. With Mr Wonderful, it was that he was forever dragging home stray cats that our landlady didn't allow, and we couldn't afford the vet bills on anyway. Little things. But annoying.

Like when I see the results of T drying his not-quite-clean hands on my good hand towels.

Or when he washes the dishes, but doesn't dry them or wipe the counter.

And then there's the interpersonal crap. The differing beliefs or expectations or communication styles. The misunderstandings.

Last night, we were laying in bed. I have some health problems that were bothering me. He asked if I was in pain, and I said 'yes'. He started tossing out 'solutions' that 'we' were going to use to make me 'better'. I stated that they would not work. I neglected to mention that I knew this for fact because I had tried them. He told me I was defeatist.

I told him to never, ever, make blanket statements on topics he knows nothing about.

I managed to haul my 'defeatist' ass through a dozen countries in as many months, at age 29, solo, after everyone told me I was crazy to go to Africa and the Middle East alone. I have survived, and left, abusive relationships. I work in a male-dominated, demanding job in a place where women are expected to be barefoot and pregnant. I managed to complete one entire degree. Defeatist. Hrumph. T clearly has a lot to learn about me. I can't currently think of a more offensive thing someone could say to me...

That one little comment still has my blood pressure up. And I'm still trying to figure out which bit of Sunday's conversation lacked tact...

Tiff

T loves his Scrabble. He goes to competitions, and actually practices daily. He writes out lists of words to memorise, and has an anagram program on his computer that he uses to help him study. His next competition is in June.

I think it's pretty cool. People who are passionnate about things (even things I don't really care about) are just more interesting to spend time with.

However.

However, it seems like we have been spending entirely too much time sitting side-by-side on the couch, him practicing Scrabble, and me playing video games. Sometimes, after a long day at work, this is a necessary thing, and it's a relief that he doesn't feel ignored when the only thing I want to do is spend some quality time with Civilisation III. But I don't want it to become a routine.

This weekend, T was doing his Scrabble thing, and I was puttering around the house, cooking and cleaning and organising - weekend stuff I like to do. I wasn't fussed that he was playing, as he had worked 6 days last week, and overtime most of them, to boot. I kind of planned to pamper him a little.

Every time I got going on something, though, he got up to help.

I got annoyed - I felt like I was guilting him into doing housework, but really I just wanted to get a few things done. I did not want his help. I did not expect him to do anything.

I bit my tongue at first, but brought it up a little later, when I wasn't feeling so snappy. Told him I didn't want to feel like I was coercing him into helping, but didn't want to sit on my ass all day, either. While I was at it, I mentioned that maybe we should spend time together when we wanted to see each other, and not get caught up in the side-by-side computer games...Suggested he stay home on nights that he really wanted to focus on Scrabble practice.

T seemed pretty upset.

Later, he mentioned that it would be easier to have these discussions if I were more tactful about it.

I forsee a problem.

Tact and subtlety really aren't my strong suits. Not that I'm a jerk about things, but I tend to be quite direct. Direct like: "This is bothering me. This is why. Here's what I propose we do about it" sort of direct. Apparently, this is disturbing. I am not quite sure how to word things much more 'nicely' without missing the point of whatever I was trying to say.

Aah, well. In the end, we agreed that when we're together, we will do things together, and save the computers for the wind-down hour before bed. Hopefully, problem solved...