My husband’s lack of decorum is embarrassing

My husband grew up in the middle-class. He went to a magnet high school. I come from a small town, so I guess you could say I am *more* middle-class. I attended a private boarding school, but only because my mother wanted to torture me. She paid to make me miserable. It worked. She was not a pleasant person.<br><br>The husband and I met at university, where we had both been admitted to the humanities department. When I finished my BA, my brother asked me to come work for him at his firm. I was still there after my MA. My brother is a kind man, and he knows how to be nice. I may not like him, but I have always been impressed by his people skills. My parents were complete monsters, and that had an impact on both of us, but, for me, the experience left me socially inept. Without my brother, I’d be a hermit. He took an interest in me, and never tried to change me. He had me over for dinner, and he and his wife helped me be more sociable. They actually enjoyed my company. They introduced me to their friends, and they enjoyed my company. Their friends took me to hunts and parties and more dinners. I had never imagined that I would be able to function in the world until I met my brother’s friends.<br><br>My husband is a different story. I wish I could say that I loved him, but we’ve been together for a decade, and I am just tolerating him. He is a nice person, but he has no class. He is awkward in his own skin. When he’s around me, I can manage him. I can give him cues, and he understands. When we are around his friends, he is fine. They are just as awkward as he is. But when we are around my brother’s friends, he embarrasses me so much I could die.<br><br>A few nights ago, we attended a dinner at his home. The food was served on fine china, with crystal glasses. My husband kept scratching the bottom of his wine glass against the tablecloth. It was driving me nuts. I tried to give him a look, but he didn’t catch it. He actually broke the base of the glass, and it spilled all over the table. I was so embarrassed. I apologized and got up to get some napkins and water. One of our friends helped me clean up the spill, and another brought a new glass. When we were done, I came back to the table and my husband was playing with the silverware. He was tapping the table with his knife, and sliding his fork back and forth. He made a game out of it, and was trying to balance the knife on the fork. I was so *mortified*. It was as if he had never attended a meal with polite people. I excused myself, and I took him outside.<br><br>I was so angry, I couldn’t even speak. I finally managed to say, “What the actual hell *is* wrong with you? Are you trying to embarrass me on purpose? Do you not know how to behave? Why would you scratch your glass against my brother’s table?” He looked at me with these wide, stupid eyes, and he said, “I didn’t know. I didn’t realize.”<br><br>I asked him, “Did you realize that you were being rude as hel when you were sliding your fork around the table?” He said, “I wasn’t trying to be rude.”<br><br>I *exploded*. “Were you trying to embarrass me? Were you trying to make a joke? You are an embarrassment. You have no idea how rude you are,” I said. He looked at me, and I could tell he didn’t understand. I said, “You have no decorum. You have no social skills. You are an *asshole*.”<br><br>He didn’t say anything. He knew I was right, and he knew there was no use arguing. I asked him, “Do you know what decorum is?” He said, “No.” I said, “Decorum is dignity. It’s a way of behaving.” I looked at him, and I finished, “You don’t have any.”<br><br>He let me finish, and then he said, “Are you done?” I said, “I’m done.” Then he said, “Then let’s go back to dinner.” I said, “You go back. I’m leaving.” And I left.<br><br>My brother called me the next morning, and asked if I was okay. I said I was. He said, “Good. I was worried.” Then we talked about my husband. I said, “He has no decorum. He’s an embarrassment, and he disgusts me. I’m going to leave him.”<br><br>My brother said, “I know you aren’t happy, but you can’t leave him. You should just teach him how to behave.” I said, “I’ve tried. He’s too stupid to learn.” My brother said, “He’s not stupid. He’s just awkward. Take some pressure off him.”<br><br>I asked him, “How?” He said, “Stop embarrassing him. Stop making him feel bad about himself. Just teach him.”<br><br>I thought about what he said, and decided maybe he was right. I decided to give my husband a chance. So I decided to take my husband for a walk, and talk to him. I was planning to ask him some questions, but it didn’t get that far. As we were walking out the door, he scratched his shoes against it, scuffing it. I looked at him, and said, “What is wrong with you?”<br><br>He looked at me, and said, “I’m sorry.”<br><br>I said, “I’m leaving you.”<br><br>He said, “Okay.”<br><br>I left him. I went to a friend’s house, and cried. She was so nice, and she listened to me. She said, “You’ll be okay.”<br><br>I went home the next morning. I had no intention of talking to him. I just wanted to get my stuff and go. But when I opened the door, I saw that his feet were tied to the legs of the sofa. It scared the shit out of me. But I saw a note on the coffee table, and picked it up. It said, “Please untie me.”<br><br>I was so confused, I didn’t understand what was happening. I started shaking the note, and I shouted, “What the fuck is wrong with you?” He said, “Please untie me.”<br><br>I went over to him, and untied his ankles. He was acting so strangely, and I didn’t know what to do. I tried to talk to him, but he didn’t want to. I tried to figure out what was wrong, but he wouldn’t tell me. He was so strange, I didn’t recognize him. It actually scared me. So I stood there.<br><br>He stood up, and he was holding a little book. He opened it, and said, “You told me I didn’t have decorum. So I looked it up. It’s a synonym for ‘dignity’.” He was reading from the book. He looked at me, and he said, “I don’t have decorum. I don’t have dignity.”<br><br>I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what to do. He said, “And I don’t care.” He threw the book across the room. I was so surprised, I jumped back. Then he untied his wrists, and stood up. He said, “You said I embarrassed you. You said I have no social skills. You called me an asshole. You’re right. I am an asshole.”<br><br>I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to react. I was speechless. He looked at me, and he said, “I don’t have a lot, but I have you. I love you, and I want to be with you. You give me dignity. Without you, I have nothing. I know I’m an asshole, but I don’t have anyone else.”<br><br>He was right. I was all he had. I was all he would ever have. And *I* left *him*. I hurt him for no reason. I made him feel bad for no reason. I had been so unfair. I was the asshole. He was crying, and I was crying too.<br><br>I ran to him, and hugged him. I said, “I’m sorry. I love you.”<br><br>He hugged me back, and said, “I love you too.”<br><br>He’s not an asshole. He’s a beautiful person. I hurt him because he embarrassed me. I was so unfair. I won’t ever hurt him again. I may not love him, but I will never leave him. He’s a beautiful person, and he deserves to be treated with respect. I won’t hurt him again.