What is it about me that causes people to feel like they can go off on me?

I haven't been talked to like that in years.  It was embarrassing to be so hurt by an acquaintance, in public, and have him tell me off simply because he couldn't control every aspect of...whatever wasn't going his way. 

I am aware that what happened last night probably has more to do with him than it does with me.

I just grow tired of having people yell at me out of pettiness and spite, and who enjoy doing so in a) public emails that are sent to all the members of the current household or b) public restaurants, in front of everyone at the table.

I am a woman.  It was supposed to be a simple, fun evening.  It should have been a simple request, and yet I am blindsided yet again.  I can't help it; I do wonder what awfulness is inside of me that gets under the skin of people and feeds their anger to the point where they go off?  Why is it, instead of calmly being able to voice a request, people tend to go on the attack and do their best to cut your feet out from under you within the first 30 seconds?  Am I so unreasonable that the only logical way of approaching me is to tear me down and make it clear I'm not wanted? 

I'm angry that this happened.  I'm sad that this happened.  I'm even hurt by this...and despite my best efforts, I'm going to have to call this day a loss as well because I can't compartmentalize my pain and hide it away.  Today, I am tainted. 

Oh Lord Jesus...I called him a "fucking asshole" to his face.  In public.  I've never done that before.  I'm pretty sure that wasn't exactly the response that a Christian should employ...but then, I'm not really sure what is.  I definitely got hit (figuratively) on both cheeks, but I don't know if I really should have invited him to tear out my heart as well.  At any rate, he was acting like one, and so I named him. 

Yeah.  Message came through, loud and clear.  Unwanted.  He sure told me. 

Somtimes I come home and N practically runs me over in his eagerness to convey the details of his day, or his game of ultimate frisbee.  Sometimes it's just to see if I noticed he had cut his hair, or help him pick out a tie (after helping him decide suit over tux for that wedding).  It's like having a 5 year old. 

But, somtimes I feel like a wife; when the other people are tantruming (usually directed at me) and I can't bear to deal with people anymore...or the rent is due but the renters have disappeared, or some God Awful Mess is left at my feet and N steps in and does what he can to make it easier on me.  Heh, sometimes I even ask him to clean the boys bathroom, and he goes and does it. 

Today I spent time at two different houses, and watch the dynamics of three teenaged boys and their foster father and their dogs, or the dynamics of a handful of granddaughters, of undeterminable age, who come in laughing and teasing and the grandmother/foster mom laughs and says silly things.  Both allow me to watch while still making me feel a part of everything.  Both make me happy to be able to know them as I do, and experience their little personal pockets of every day life.

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to have that.  My immediate family is small, mostly quiet, introverted.  Any moments of chaos with kids, grandkids, cousins, and any mix of significant others I have to find on holidays at my Aunt's house.  I soak it up...it's so warm, so inviting.  Even if most of the time I just fade into the background and watch, as if by sitting still long enough I can let the warmth set in, and carry it with me in my heart.

I think about a few years down the road, having a house full of noisy people and animals, who interact and laugh and do life together, even if it's messy.  There is joy to be found there, I think. 

But then I come home, to my home.  Full of boys and a cat, and after a full days work and a brain gone gooey I walk into the kitchen.  Women's work.  And that's why the woman does it, yeah?  :) 

And I sigh, because I have to add on more things to my to-do list.  Instead of tackling laundry (or my bed, for that matter), I'll be tackling dishes.  Garbage.  And writing a note detailing chores in case anybody is home long enough to actually, I don't know, clean up after themselves  while I'm gone...

Always something to do.  Why is it that I feel like I have to be the one to do it?

It's just...tiring.  There are two sides to every coin;  the warmth of the party, and the cold clean up afterwards. 

Still, I want that.