. . . I typed too soon last night.
He blew up because the torte didn’t come out right. Yes. You read that correctly. Screaming, berating, name-calling. Yeah. Over food. Sooooo rational. (Can you smell the sarcasm?)
Then he yelled at me because the smell of my tea “makes me sick” so I took my tea and my computer, and went upstairs for the night. I don’t mind living in my bedroom . . . I just don’t want to share it with him anymore.
AND . . . I don’t think that I should have to retreat in a house that I PAY FOR.