Fred is confused.
I have been very complacent and subdued for weeks, recovering from a serious illness. I basically had no opinion. Everything Fred suggested and did sounded o.k. to me. I was grateful. I was in a weakened physical and mental state. I was hooked to an oxygen tank, whacked on Vicodin!
Then I started to feel better…and with improved health came the return of “My Point of View.”
Because of this, Fred honestly thought there was something new wrong with me. He intended to ask the doctor about possible side effects to my drugs. Could they be the reason he has a smart-mouthed troll invading the body of his recently sweet-tempered, docile wife? If so—he wanted something done about it—FAST! Does she need mood altering drugs? A lobotomy?
Fred liked me better complacent--complacent like when we were dating.
Like many women, when I first met my future husband I was in the “Love Fog.” I didn’t care what we did, so long as we were together. I did things he liked to do, just to be around him. He took me camping on “Mosquito Cloud Isle” and I helped pitch the tent. He took me to cold football games—I bundled next to him. He rented “Slap Shot” for us and I didn’t say, “This movie sucks.” I wasn’t being dishonest—I really didn’t care.
After our wedding, and months into our marriage, Fred suggested another trip to “Mosquito Cloud Isle;” a place where the mosquitoes will carry you, “Winged-Monkey-like” across Lake Michigan if you’re not anchored down; a place I think of as Heidi Hell.
“Hmmm. Let’s get a hotel instead of camping.” I suggested.
Fred looked at me like I had a badger on my face.
“But you loved it 3 years ago.”
“Yes, but that was during my “Love Fog” era. I was out of my mind. I’d much rather have carpeting and a porcelain toilet.”
Fred began mourning the loss of the woman he married--the “Whatever-You-Want, Honey” girl. I’m sure, like many men, he felt deceived. Now, faced with yet another “Good Heidi” vs. “Bad Heidi” he has to reconcile---he is confused. Just when the freedom to do exactly as he wanted was within his reach--with no one asking questions or make helpful suggestions--wifey recovers… and regains a voice, opinions and preferences all over again.
“Don’t you want me to feel feisty again? That means I’m healing.” I offered.
Fred did not answer. He’s still thinking it over.