There you go again. I'll tell you what hurts most, but I'll only be confirming what you've already worked out for yourself, won't I. Will it comfort you to know that I went to sleep last night with this on my mind?
I left for work at half past one in the afternoon. The garden, particularly the potted plants didn't need to be watered for the second time in the day until the evening. I didn't get back until after dark, when it was no longer possible to water the garden, except by guess work and with a lot of blundering about in the pitch black involved. It isn't a big garden but it is ours and we've invested a bit in the plants we've got growing in it. Some even have sentimental value - like the roses we've planted where we've buried the pets you shed so many tears over.
Remember? I got home at 9:30 last night. I noticed the wilting plants by the kitchen door and I asked you if they'd been watered. Perhaps you'd just done it after getting the offspring to bed; too dark now for me to see water lying about the pots afterall. I could only judge that they were still rather wilted from the sillouette. What did you say? "Yes, yes I watered this afternoon, well this evening."
I knelt down and felt the soil. That pot hadn't been watered since this morning.
Is the thing that hurts most the failure to bother with this simple domestic chore which I couldn't do? No.
Is the thing that hurts most the lie about it? No.
The thing that hurts most is that after almost15 years of marriage and so many protestations of love you can't even show me enough respect to come up with a plausible lie. I'm past expecting the balls to tell me the truth. But I do wish that you'd put a bit of effort into your lies; you're not putting any great effort into anything else.
Do you have any idea how much I hate you?
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