A Martyr No More

I told myself he never made fun of me, but that wasn’t true.

There was a time we drove nearly to Oklahoma. We were new to the state. I had told him that I wanted to learn my way around so he suggested that I navigate to the restaurant for date night. Then navigate on the way back. I said, “I’ll get us as far as the interestate, and then I know the way from there, so then I won’t navigate anymore.” I mentally checked out of navigating and our conversation picked up steam. After a while I noticed grain silos beside the Interstate so I asked where we are. He began cracking up with laughter. He told me we were half way to Oklahoma because I had forgotten to tell him to get off the Interstate to go home. I protested that I had told him I was done navigating. He wouldn’t hear it. He just laughed like I was stupid. I laughed along, but I also felt confused and hurt. I tried to be a good sport, but I was bewildered and humiliated. That was weird. I shouldn’t have been laughing along. It felt icky.
I got made fun of about liking mayo. every. time. we made a sandwich. EVERY TIME. But not in public. He knew to save his ridicule for private.