I don’t know if I’m more bothered that I continue, after all this time, to make ridiculous grabs for control, or that he just swats it away with as much interest as waving off a pesky mosquito.
I had the most ridiculous overreaction last night. Not in the sense of pitching a fit or anything. But a couple of moments where, had I the ability to yank the collar off, I would have- and then likely chucked it at his head for good measure.
It was really over nothing more than my attempt to dictate the terms of the service I’m willing to provide.
Srsly. Just typing that makes me cringe. Ugh.
It wasn’t even important service. Nothing but a glass of water and the very *precise* spot he wanted it placed. Had I an ounce less of self-preservation, I might have dumped the water *precisely* in his lap. Instead, after placing it in *precisely* the spot he wanted it in, I informed him that “stupid shit like that makes me want to quit doing ‘this’”.
As if that’s even an option. “I quit. Taking my ball and going home. See ya later, tater!”
And over something so dumb! I might feel justified in my reaction if he were asking me to boil kittens, chop off limbs, abandon my kids, eat my grandma–
But no. I decide, rather late in the game I might add, that I need limits because he expects that I should put the glass on the coaster and not in his hand. THAT’S where I draw the line, by golly. Don’t anyone tell me I haven’t got my priorities straight.
I swear, it was in that moment, that ridiculous moment, when my collar tightened by about 3 inches. *At least.*
As I’m standing there (just slightly out of his reach because my momma didn’t raise no fools), with my hands on my hips (my ‘bitch wings’ as he calls them), glaring at him and mumbling about quitting, one might expect that he’d come unglued himself, and let me know in no uncertain terms that he’ll decide how service is done, and he’ll decide if anyone gets to quit.
Instead he just… flaps a hand. Waves it away. Snickers and says “sucks to be you, cunt”, and…. dismisses it. Dismisses me and my temper and my flapping and my glaring and my heel digging.
Somehow, that’s even more demeaning. Makes me feel even more ridiculous. My ‘reactance’ isn’t even worth acknowledging.
So I briefly considered ‘punishing’ him by going to the bathroom without asking. I mean, honestly, that’s the extent of my arsenal right there. I’ll show him how much freedom I have, by George. Just watch me pee without permission! That’ll learn him.
Except… even I know it doesn’t. It doesn’t do anything, it doesn’t matter. I won’t “win”, nothing would be accomplished. He’d react, all right, if I tried to ratchet things up, and certainly not pleasantly. And, in the end, I’d still have this collar on my neck, I’d still be putting that fucking glass of water on the coaster and not just handing it to him, I’d still not get to quit, only he’d also be pissed, and I’d likely be hurting.
That’s how I felt, and he hadn’t said a word or made a move.
This morning, I’m feeling ashamed. Stupid. Ridiculous. I don’t really want to “win”. I don’t want to be dictating service or ripping off my collar or any of that.
He has a knack for making me see the meaning of inconsequential. Even though I tend to take the scenic route to get there.
I wonder sometimes if he wishes he had one of those drooling-in-their-eager-to-please-edness, natural submissives.
That will probably never be me. I have rights, you know…