Pissy little bitch. That is what I have called my husband all holiday weekend. OK I called him that in my head, not so much out loud. Why? He's sick and can't help it, right? No it's not the being sick, I don't mind taking care of him at all. It's the crappy attitude and quick to bite my head off part I mind. I have drawn the conclusion that his little attitude problem is less from illness than it is from a nicotine fit.
Brad dips. I HATE it with all of my being. He didn't dip when I met him, he didn't dip while we dated, or even through the first two years of marriage. But he decided to pick up the lovely habit when I was pregnant with Turner. Boy did I throw a fit when I found out. Brad assured me it was just something he did at work. This did not appease me in the least.
If Brad brought home a tin of Copenhagen I threw it away or poured dish soap in it. I sat down and calculated what he was spending in a year on the hideous vice, seventeen hundred bucks. I then multiplied that by twenty years to show him the small fortune he was wasting, thinking that money is a language that Brad understands. I emailed him every gruesome picture of oral cancer I could find. I bribed dentists to scare him, but none of that has worked. But Tiffany, didn't you smoke for years? Yep. I quit when we started thinking about having kids. I have been smoke free for almost four years.
My smoking is another point to my rant. I never did it in the house or car. Brad threw any cigarettes he found into the toilette. He bitched and moaned in unending fashion. The difference? I quit and stayed "quit". Brad tried to dip in the house once. I am not exaggerating when I say dipping makes me sick. So I picked up his spit cup and proceeded to walk out the door. On the way I asked him if he wanted it in or out. In or out of what? On the inside or outside of he beloved very clean truck. I vowed that if he ever dipped in my house again I would pour his spit on the interior of his truck, that ended him dipping inside. Dipping in the car is another story.
Since the man works seven days a week it isn't usually an issue. He par takes of his filthy habit at work and comes home just in time to eat supper and go to bed, no real temptation there. Weekends or off days are another story. He has tried dipping with me in the car before, all it does is bring out the wrath of the most evil bitch the world has ever seen. So he abstains while around me. He has taken to dipping while outside at our house, say while working in the yard. We argue and yell. He points out that he is a "Grown ass man" and can do what he wants. I let him know that if he had dipped when I met him I would never had given him a second look.
Well, aren't I uppity? Yes I am. It is a habit so beneath such an intelligent not to mention devastatingly handsome man. It infuriates me. His teeth are perfectly straight, and used to be so white. Why would he want to ruin that? Why now that I have vowed to try and live as long as I can to be around for my kids, why does he in his middle age fight for such a nasty and potentially life shortening habit?
I have heard plenty of theories that dipping or using smokeless tobacco is harder to give up than smoking. I don't know because I have never dipped. I did smoke and know that it wasn't a piece of cake to lay down. So get the gum or the patch, no shame in it. But I can not will my husband to quit. No matter what I do I cannot make him want to quit. I hate not being able to sway him. I move for him, I left my family and friends back in Louisiana, I left college shortly before graduating so I could be with my husband, I gave up smoking so I could give him a beautiful son, shortly he'll have a lovely daughter. Why can I do all this but he won't stop dipping and hurting himself?
So when Brad is home I have noticed a little pattern. In the very beginning of the morning he is nice, sweet even. By lunch he turns into a pissy little bitch. He snaps at everything I say or ask. Even though he doesn't realize it he is short tempered with Turner. If he happens to be home for more than one day it only gets worse as time goes on. Vacations aren't fun because we're together the whole time and he's fiening for nicotine and hating me for not letting him have it. Wouldn't it be easier to ease up and give in? No. I will not let my son watch the man he reveers most dip and think it is OK, cool, or acceptable. I know I can't keep Turner from doing it when he's older, but I can keep him from thinking it's OK because Papa does it.
Part of it is vanity, I love the way Brad looks. I have been wild about him since I first laid eyes on him. The thought of him having to have his lower jaw removed terrifies me. His beautiful teeth should stay beautiful. I worked in a dentist office as an assistant for two years during college. I saw what this stuff does to people's mouths. His gums will recede, his teeth will get loose, and he will loose them, it may take fifteen more years but it will happen. The term Copenhagen Smile was not coined because people who dip have lovely grins. It's because their mouth start to look black and their dental hygiene is terrible. So it'll be fifteen or twenty or more years down the road, so what? Well I have not become any less attracted to my husband in the seven years I have known him. Conversely, I am more attracted to him the older he gets. I'd like to still be head over heels for him and wanting to kiss him when we've been married for twenty five years. I do not want to be holding his hand when the doctor tells us he has cancer of the mouth, gums, or esophagus.
I don't smoke, I don't tan, I am the sunscreen queen, I try to eat right, keep my weight healthy, take vitamins, have good blood pressure, go to regular check ups etc. Why does my husband who already suffers form hypertension, asthma, chronic heart burn, and possibly sleep apnea, why does he want to add one more thing to make himself unhealthy? The world may never know.
Well I don't feel any better, no amount of venting makes me feel better when the topic is Brad's dipping habit. No amount of yelling, screaming, or bitching does any good to change it. And no matter what I try to tell him he'll never listen or get what about it makes me so damn mad. He's an oak tree all right, he listens as well as one that's for sure. He's stubborn and bull headed, two thing that I really love and respect about him. I just wish for this once he would listen, bend, and give in.
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