Ryota often mixes the abbreviation "B.O." with "D.V." Ironic, as I can see the funny side of this post but it actually should be quite serious.
Ryota and I had a big fight the other night. And I mean BIG. The biggest we've ever had, and it actually got physical.
Now, before people go booking me in to the nearest women's shelter (do they even have those in Japan, I should investigate... Although I fear mine would be called "Sassymoo's house...) I should point out that I did actually technically start the violence, and it really wasn't that bad... Fuck, reading that over I already sound like a battered wife defending my husband!
Most foreign wives would be able to snap their J-husbands in two but since I've lost some of my sumo-like blubber I'm getting a bit scrawny, plus Ryota is fucking built like a brick shit-house compared to most skinny J-guys, I guess the whole outdoor hard work or whatever, so yeah, I was actually a bit scared for a few seconds. Until the scared turned to hot, piping rage and he copped a blow from behind as he was walking out the genkan.
I should back up and explain the whole story though... This may take a while, it always seems to.
So... this was Wednesday night, and this whole week, like most people in Japan at the moment, life hasn't really been that...fun. We are being bombarded with images of death and destruction, worrying about our friends in the North, not knowing whether to believe fucking dramatic American journalists with their tales of nuclear doom, or the 'little-bit-too-fucking-calm-for-my-liking' Japanese officials. It's just not nice and we've been feeling the pressure. Not that this is an excuse, but we've both been a bit more snippy with each other than usual.
So Wednesday, Ryota took half a day off, so he finished work at 12pm, and I was teaching on and off until 7. Now this equation seems logical to me. Ryota+finish work early= He cooks dinner. No? Am I wrong here? But me knowing Ryota, knew this would be too much for his tiny little brain to handle, so instead of telling him to just 'rustle something up' I said we'd have fried rice, I would cook the rice, and get all the ingredients he needed. All he had to do was chop, chuck and fry.
Chop. Chuck it all in. Fry the fucker up.
Not that hard, right? Wrong. At about 6pm while I was still teaching, I got an email with loads of angry, ranting Japanese about me being wasteful and buying too much and then at the end "Are you stupid?!" (in English). Now if he could actually speak English, this would probably read as "Are you really that thick you dumb bitch!?"
I called him, explained as nicely as I could that I actually took all the stuff out of the fridge and in a shopping bag and only ended up buying bacon and eggs as we already had all the other stuff in the fridge, and to be fair to him he totally apologised and it was all good.
Except that it wasn't really. Even if I had made a mistake and bought the stuff instead of using the stuff in the fridge, is it really that big of a deal? Does it really warrant an abusive, nasty mail while I'm at work?
So I got home, and he's there in the kitchen, sweat running down his face, flustered, running around like a blue-arsed fly... All because... He had to make fucking fried rice. Fuck me dead it was a production! I should also note that he'd dumped Ash at Grandma's house so he couldn't even use the "Ash was being an arsehole" excuse. I also stared, wide-eyed, at my kitchen, which is never that clean, but was a serious bomb site. What is with men NEVER cleaning as they go!? And using all new forks and plates instead of just rinsing!? needless to say, it would have been much less stressful if I'd just cooked the fried rice myself.
Right, going to have to be the rest of the story tomorrow, I'm cold and hungry. (And I sure as hell aren't letting Ryota in the kitchen again!)