Eating with My Narcissist: Dinner and a Show

Meals with my narcissist were rarely dull. They ran the gamut from frightening to elegant. Of course, where it appeared on the spectrum depended entirely on how my narcissist felt that life was treating him.

When I lived at home, my family ate only dinner together most of the week. Since both my mother and my father worked outside of the home, and had a 45 minute commute, dinner was rather late and rushed. My narcissist despised waiting. He wanted, and expected, the things he wanted instantly. Think of an anal-retentive efficiency expert after drinking four pots of coffee. We were taught to anticipate, to not need words, but to be able to read what someone wanted and do/get it NOW. The no words part was especially important because dinner was made during the nightly local news.

Dinner was eaten during the nightly national news. Dinner was eaten listening to the nightly national news. Here at the table, no words was important, too, as was the placement of the furniture. The television HAD to be viewable from my father's seat at the dinner table. Talking was strictly forbidden except commercials, and then only if my narcissist didn't want to talk himself. We used hand signals to indicate if we wanted something passed to us. If one spoke during the news, then my narcissist would hiss through gritted teeth to be quiet, and then turn up the volume on the television. Sometimes the volume was increased because of the noise of lids or glasses being set down, or silverware clinking together too loudly. This brings me to another requirement of the furniture: the television had to be close enough to my narcissist's chair that he could quickly and easily reach over and turn up the volume (for this was loooong before remote controls). Often the television was painfully loud, but asking to have it turned down was a sure way to have it turned up instead.

My narcissist liked to eat at nice restaurants. Thankfully, usually nice restaurants care what their patrons want and bend over backwards to give it to them. My narcissist very much liked this treatment. On these occasions, I could sit quietly (as was expected) and read or do puzzles. If, however, there was some trouble with my narcissist's order or the service, look out. Only on very rare occasions would he handle it politely. Usually it involved loud voice, gritted teeth, and rudeness. At less fancy restaurants, food throwing was even a possibility. Embarrassment at its worst. I was thankful when my narcissist would get so upset that he insisted we leave. At least then all we had to worry about was him throwing a violent temper tantrum in the car. This was also a good time to be completely quiet. Drawing attention to one's self only invited a verbal attack.

Perhaps this explains why I enjoy eating in a restaurant alone. I'm used to being quiet while I eat, and this way, I can do so without worrying about some sort of angry outburst if I use my tableware too loudly.