It's now ten after three. I first asked for something to eat at 9:00 this morning, because he said he was going out and would be running errands all day. He has yet to leave the house.
He just came into the bedroom to tell me that the National Wildlife Federation had called to get him to support some political thing and he had a nice long chat with them.
I said, "So you'll be going to the barbecue restaurant soon?"
He said, "I'm going OUT. I have to go here and there and then I'll bring you a sandwich."
I said, "D is picking me up in less than three hours for dinner."
He: "I'll be back before then, probably in a half hour. Or maybe an hour." (Glancing at clock, realizing that that will only be an hour and a half before dinner, and blaming me for putting him in this spot, now adopting familiar sarcastic/patronizing tone that says, "YOU'VE put ME in this impossible situation; how do you want me to fix it?") "What would YOU like me to DO?" He leans on bed, looks at me with tilted head and raised eyebrows.
I said, "Is there anything here to eat?"
He said, "The apple didn't do it for you, huh?"
I said, "Well it sort of did."
He: "Well, what would you LIKE?"
Me: "I'd like a barbecued chicken sandwich."
He, standing up, raising voice, huffing out of the room," Well what I guess I just better DO is to go to the restaurant and GET you your SANDWICH, hadn't I? Would that meet with your approval?" Stomps out of house, drives to barbecue place (I assume) about five blocks away.
This is a very common/routine type of transaction these days. He's testy, on edge, sarcastic, rude, ready to bite my head off at a moment's notice. The fact that I'm in a disabled condition doesn't seem to be a blip on his radar screen except insofar as it makes him feel MORE inadequate than he usually does.
I'll let you know if and when the sandwich gets here.
