My wife and I moved to Kentucky thirteen years ago, because of her mother’s age and infirmity. Mother had the misfortune of living next door to a particularly unpleasant individual and his family. Actually, the three children were, in the circumstances, remarkably good, and the wife was a nice person.
The main problem was that she always had a multi-coloured face. She weighed about a hundred pounds soaking wet, while he was a great, fat bellied bully-boy of a person who weighed in at about two hundred and twenty pounds.
Mother used to look after their children from time to time, but kept out of the parent’s business completely. Is your husband abusive? Then you’ll know what I mean with this true story.
Wife and husband were both some twenty years younger than my wife and I and for a reason I understood, but wished I didn’t, he used to consider me a friend. I avoided him as much as I could. He was arrogant, boastful and generally unpleasant.
One evening our phone rang, and it was his wife in an awful state. Would we please come over because he was going to kill her? As you can imagine, this was the last thing we wanted and suggested she call the police. As she pointed out, though, by the time they arrived, the deed would have been long done. I’ve mentioned before that we live way in the country here and lines of communication are very stretched.
Well, we had little alternative, so off we went. When we arrived, they were arguing back and forth, and he took an ornament off the wall and threw it at her. In the event, it hit me on the leg! This made me very angry, and I told him that if there was a repeat of that, he’d eat a kitchen chair. This did calm him down somewhat.
We spoke to the pair of them like Dutch uncles and when we left, all was peace. However, during all this, it became apparent why he knocked her about so badly, apart from his natural tendency to bully. She was vastly more intellectually able than he. He was the intellectually inferior bully.
We listened as they argued, and for every point he made, she was able, by sweet reason, to turn her own argument into commonsense.
A few days later, he pinholed me outside and told me that he’d fixed her well and truly the night before. I couldn’t believe I was hearing this. He went on about how he’d beaten her up, thrown her out of the house, then dragged her back in, worked her over again, and again threw her out. This would be the equivalent of me beating up a nine year old girl.
To do what he’d done was disgusting enough. To boast about it was beyond all understanding.
It ended up with her taking the kids one morning and vanishing. But the intellectually inferior bully can only argue in one way. By lashing out.