In the middle of an epic fight earlier, Husband yells,”You’re throwing glass at me? That’s what you’re doing now? Throwing glass at me?”
I felt momentarily appalled and wanted to stop yelling at him long enough to explain that whatever I was doing was not as horrible as throwing glass at him, my husband, the father of my children. I am not a violent person. I want people to be safe and happy. I think I’d have trouble throwing glass in self defense, nevermind throwing it at someone I love.
But the fact remains I’ve got a glass soda bottle in my hand poised to throw at him. It is the 4th out of the 4 pack that was sitting waiting to go to the redemption center. I have in fact already thrown it’s 3 companions at him. I didn’t intend to throw glass. To be lethal and violent. It was just a well of repressed rage at being told angrily, disgustedly and dismissively to SHUT UP for the who knows how many’th time in our long and checkered history together that pushed me over the edge and suddenly I was batshit bitch, throwing glass. He wasn’t hurt. I am crippled after all. But still..
So I look at him, at his contempt and rage and I know I’m supposed to cower and apologize. Profusely. But instead I say,”Yep. I’m throwing glass. Don’t tell me to shut up again.”