Screw the diet pills...

I'm going on the 'My husband is an absolute wanker! diet.'

No, not really, although if we had arguments every day like we did the other night I would be a supermodel by the end of the year! I've found that if Ryota and I have an argument I lose all my appetite, even if could have eaten the crotch out of a low flying duck before the argument, I'll feel totally sick after a tiff. I've informed Ryota that if I look porky again any time soon he is to immediately pick a fight with me, the more trivial the better! Destructive marriage behaviour 101 right there...

It wasn't so much the actual argument that got me pissed off but it was the fact it made me think about my whole life and the system we were going by. Gotta hate it when thought is provoked, if only I was a simple trailer park girl whose biggest worry was what daytime soap to watch! Anyway, what happened was, I had to work until 8pm the other night, which by Japanese standards isn't anywhere near late, but is quite late for the one who has to organise the whole house or it turns into utter chaos. Anyway, I had prepared dinner earlier in the day when I'd had a break between lessons and it was in the oven ready to heat up but my bad, I didn't mail Ryota to tell him this. So Ryota got home at 6pm, as he does every night (VERY early for the usual J-guy!) and was cheesed off that the kitchen appeared bare and both him and Ash were grumpy and hungry. OK, first of all, poor fucking baby! Deal with it bitch, it's not that hard to pull something out of the freezer and shove it in the microwave! Or order in, I don't give a fuck. Now this is irrelevant, as I had made dinner, but he didn't know this at this point.

So fast-forward to about 8:15 when I shuffled in the door, tired and sick as a dog with some vicious cold and get absolutely no response from Ryota, who looked frazzled and irritated as all fuck. This is how it went:

Me: Hey, how was your day?

Him: OK. ........................... ..................... *scowly face*

Me: What's wrong, why are YOU pissed??

Him: Where's my fucking dinner, and Ash's fucking dinner!?

OK, he actually had the balls to say 'fucking' as well. That was when I immediately hit the roof and started quizzing him if he knew what year it was, you can't just say things like that to women anymore, we're likely to cut your penis off with a carving knife for that shit. I also pointed out the awesome looking gratin in the oven, chips ready to be oven baked and salad in the fridge. He went quiet then and muttered a sorry but I swear he still looked pissed off. I then tried to tell him calmly that despite the fact I had actually made dinner, even if I hadn't, he needed to lose the pampered Japanese boy routine and man the fuck up and cook something without whinging like a pussy bitch about it. He then told me the reason he was so pissed off was that there was a big plate of choc-chip muffins I'd baked on the kitchen table (errrr hello, wife of the year, wouldn't most men be happy with that!?) and he thought I'd baked muffins but hadn't cooked dinner. First of all, I'm not that dense, or fond of baking for that matter and second, who the fuck does he think I made those buttery, sugary choc-chippy goodness filled muffins for!? Certainly not this diet queen!!! Mother fucking ungrateful shit he is.

So turns out it was actually a misunderstanding on his part and a lack of communication on mine, but I couldn't let it go. I spent the next 24 hours contemplating the fact that in our house I am responsible for:
-All the housework, as in everything.
-Getting Ash ready in the morning.
-Giving Ash a bath (he dresses him afterwards)
-All grocery/clothes/household shopping.
-Dropping off and picking up Ash from kindy.
-All kindy bullshit duties like meetings and open days.
-Organising and cooking dinner every night.
-Putting the rubbish out (usually the man's job!!!)
-Running a business by myself, in a language that isn't my own.

And I got to thinking that it was slightly fucked up! So I huffed off to bed without dinner that night and then took 24 hours of silent, awkward interactions. The next day we had a big talk and came to the decision that on days I finished later than 7 or was really busy, Ryota is in charge of cooking. Of course he'll need 4 weeks in advance notice and for me to buy everything and then clean up after him, but fuck it he's going to have to do something!

Marrying the oldest son in a Japanese family is really quite tough, I'm still hacking away at those bastard apron strings!