Hanging On By One Fingernail

So I haven’t posted for a while. Since January 20th, to be exact. I’ve been trying to keep up with my reader, but even that is proving to be difficult. So let me tell you, dear readers, what I’ve been up to.

First of all, there were my water troubles. For those of you not familiar with Chez d’Arty’s love/hate relationship with water, I refer you to a couple of earlier posts called Homeowner’s Bliss, Parts One and Two.

So anyway, my water troubles are sort of fixed. My shower still leaks. My kitchen sink still leaks. But a lot of the other leaks are fixed. The CIA would be proud.

But then I had to go to another city for a 9-day work assignment. And I got sick. I wasn’t feeling too hotshot before I left but while there all the little virus particles decided to really let go, literally. I didn’t think that it was possible to spend that much time in the bathroom. The worst part is that I was in a hotel room without the familiar comforts of home: The dog lying next to me, burping and farting. The plumber trudging up and down the stairs and probably envisioning a lifetime’s worth of work in my soggy basement. My neighbour, swearing loudly as he shovels the sidewalk. I can’t tell you how glad I was that I was in a hotel room.

Actually, that’s not very true. I was really missing M. but also glad that he was in no danger of getting infected.

And on top of it all, I had to keep working.  Since I was not long back from medical leave I didn’t think that it would be a good thing to claim further illness, so Immodium became my best friend. Yum.

I got back home to a pile-up at work and having to face the fact that I’m not really better yet. I am awaiting the results of further tests.  In the meantime, I have actually done some catch-up reading and am amazed anew at the creative abilities of those I follow – and others of you, as well.  You really are a talented lot. Thanks for making me laugh and for making me think.

The -foot ( m) diameter granite CIA seal in th...

I appreciate you all.

Homeowner’s Bliss, Part 2

So here I am again and still suffering from my water troubles. I’ve decided that I should consider plumbing as my next career. Reading law? Forget it. Medicine? Too many late nights. Plumbing. Now there’s your ticket. You will be a contented millionaire who is able to take early retirement at age 35. People will come from afar and worship at your altar of mysterious, netherworldly knowledge. You will be loved and revered. And best of all, you will understand and be able to fix your own plumbing.

When I last left you, dear readers, I had been informed that I would have to pay $1000 to fix the weird-ass pipes that the plumber wanted to take pictures of. That was back when I had nerves. Now I don’t have any left. They are distant memory, smothered in the vague notion that once upon a time, I didn’t have water troubles and life was good.

A complex arrangement of rigid steel piping, s...

Anyway, God came  the plumber came. He worked for six hours. He charged me $1000.00. He told me the shower was fixed. Then he told me that he needed to do another six hours of work. That a lot of it is temporary, like the temporary filling that the dentist gives you. I’ve always wondered about that. Why is it that they just can’t give you the permanent filling right from the start? Why do you have to go through this temporary bit? Anyway, I’m digressing, but I asked him the same question – why the temp job? So he gave me a lot of explanations that I didn’t understand about angles and corners and how he wanted everything to work, at least temporarily.

So the next morning, I took a shower. As I was towelling off I was startled by a loud bang. Then there was another. I soon came to believe that the Battle of the Bulge was being re-enacted in my basement. Shaking, I grabbed at the phone to call the plumber. “Expansion in the new pipes,” I was told. “Calm down and have a drink. ”

“It’s  eight o’clock in the morning,” I shouted, “I’ve got to go to work!”

“Have one when you get back, then, ” he said, chuckling. Those plumbers and their off-beat humour. Imagine, laughing at me and my plumbing while in the background, the pipes are expanding at a rate that would put a machine gun to shame.

As you might have guessed, all that banging did nothing for my nerves. I’m convinced the pipes have entered into an alliance of terror and have ganged up on me to reduce me to a quivering pulp. I knew this because whenever anyone else was around, they would lapse into a sullen silence.

Then a couple of days ago I knew I was in for it. There was a loud burp, followed by the sound of a fair-sized river running around the perimeter of the house. Then the heavy shelling started. I didn’t know if I should call the plumber or the armed forces. Then there was a gurgle followed by a loud hiss and then the machine guns and loud bangs went off  together in a big flourish reminiscent of the 1812 Overture. 

I grabbed a broom for defense and ran down into the basement. Water was pouring over the floor underneath the fixed shower stall.

I told the plumber about this new development and he has told me that my shower has to come out, that it’s leaking into the walls or something. I’m convinced that I don’t need a plumber, that an exorcist would work just fine. But calmer heads attached to functioning nerves have prevailed.

The plumber comes again tomorrow and I’ve stocked up. I have tranquilizers, earplugs and lots of whiskey. If you don’t hear from me again, send the army, or better yet, the navy. I’m sure they could use the live-fire practise.

 

Still Here, Still Reading

First of all, acknowledgements: I got this idea from Ramblings from a Mum, so thank you, Ramblings!

Over the last four months I’ve been recuperating from a major surgery and as I started to feel better I also started this blog. Now, all healed, it’s time for me to return to work.

Rusty recuperating after surgery
Rusty recuperating after surgery (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

This means that I won’t be able to make as many comments as I’ve been making – I shall often have to make do with just clicking “like.”

That doesn’t mean that I’m not reading. In fact, I don’t believe in following a blog unless I am going to read it. Otherwise, what’s the point? An attempt at better stats? Well, I suppose, but I believe that that somewhat defeats the point of having a blog. Isn’t it all about putting your writing and ideas out there to get some feedback, whether good or bad?

I have so very much enjoyed getting to “know” some of you. Scott Williams, Kimberly Harding, planetjan, ruleofstupid, Ramblings from a Mum, Teeny Bikini. The ideas, humour and honesty that you share with the rest of us are inspiring. I have learned so much from doing this and from  you, in particular.

To everyone who has either chosen to follow me, to click like, or just to stop and take a look, thank you. I never thought that so many of you would be interested in reading my  stuff.  So, I’m still here and still reading (and writing) – just with a little less time available!

Homeowner’s Bliss

Scottish Canadian (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I have water troubles. No, not that kind, the other kind. The kind that you find dripping in the basement. A lot of my troubles seem to start there.  If you remember, dear readers, I once found rats down there. If you don’t remember, you can read about them in a post I did called, curiously enough,  A Rat’s Tale.

Let me admit right from the start that I am a complete infant when it comes to the management of domestic machinery. Even the operation of the sink is a bit of a mystery.

However, ever since I moved in here it seems that there has been a conspiracy between two of the scariest bits of the house: the pipes and the furnace. I’m sure that they’re colluding to turn me into a sweating, quivering mass and get me wheeled out of here a la Amityville Horror, if a little less grandly.

The first fall I was here and still in the honeymoon stage of new homeowner’s bliss, I turned on the heat but didn’t get a wink of sleep. Every time I started to drift off there were these loud bangs and the sounds of water running. Now, you might say to yourself, it couldn’t have been that bad, but believe me, it was. Close-range artillery had nothing on it. And then there was the fear that I might have to build an ark.

So I got a plumber, a guy who grew up with Moses and knew more about pipes than the oil industry. He poked, prodded, stared and blinked. Then he stood by the back door and spat. “Old system,” he said. “Air in the pipes. Need to take the pressure off. One hour. $100.00.”

It turns out that I’ve got something called “radiant heat” which circulates hot water around the house. During the Roman days it was a good system but mine dates to the 1960s, a time when engineers felt they had to tinker with perfectly good stuff and screw it up. That’s what I have. Not the old-fashioned, really good, reliable version. The screwed up version. Air gets into it and it makes a lot of noise and a river runs through it.

The situation I’ve got going on now is a lot worse, though. Everything has sprung a leak. I keep wondering if there’s some sort of message that I’m not getting. There’s one from the kitchen sink. One from the dishwasher. One from the bathtub. One from the shower. There’s also some sort of problem with the venting. If you didn’t know already, as I did not (big surprise), improper venting will cause all kinds of water to back up, particularly all over the floor.

The plumber who came in to take a look initially tried to be polite and keep a straight face but later I could see him choking back gales of laughter. He was red-faced and almost suffocating. He was holding it in so hard that if he had let it slip, he would have blown his teeth out. I thought that I might have to get the portable defibrillator.

He wanted to take pictures. I kid you not. There’s probably some secret website or other where they share plumbing stories. There are probably gasps of awe and wonder as they gaze in astonishment and exclaim, “What the hell is THAT?”

I apparently bought a house with not only a weird furnace but also with the worst plumbing on the planet.  He estimated that at least four different people had had a go at it, and not one of them had read “Plumbing for Dummies.” My ex-narcissist, supposedly an expert on pipes, was one of the four. Why am I not surprised? Then I heard him muttering to himself something about it being a “handyman’s nightmare.”

The next thing he said was that if Mike Holmes saw my plumbing, he would have a heart attack. For those of you who don’t know, Mike Holmes is a renovation god who goes all over Canada fixing shoddy workmanship. His motto is “make it right.” Usually, he takes your house apart to do it. Now for me, hearing the words “Mike Holmes” and “heart attack” in the same sentence brought up one word: money.

“How much is this going to cost?” I wailed.

The plumber, a friendly young guy who was earnestly trying to be professional, starting shifting from one foot to the other.  As we stood there, another leak sprouted. I skipped nimbly back and in the process mashed several toes on a storage box. He swished through the water and started listing out all the stuff that had to be done.  I started hyperventilating, whether from the mashed toes or the cost or both.  In the end, after several big drinks of whiskey, I was able to recover, if a little unsteadily and still trying to stave off visions of bankruptcy.

He’s either replacing, moving or repairing six pipes. Then there’s the vent. It’s going to cost $1000.00. Since it’s such a strange get-up, I temporarily had thoughts of  throwing it open to the general public for a small admission fee, but he’s actually coming back in only a couple of days. Shot down again.

I’ll let you know how it goes and how the whiskey holds out.

Something to think about …

Rule of Stupid

Conflict comes because two people are searching for the truth and think they have contradictory information.

War comes because someone wants another person to agree with them regardless of the truth.

At the root of this, for me, is the way in which we become attached to ideas about ourselves and to our own actions. If we have an unhealthy relationship with ourselves, we are likely to go to war instead of having a healthy row.

For this argument there are two opposing positions to take in life:

One: all you say, do and create is an expression of you, and what happens to these expressions happens to you.

Two: Once you have said, done or created something, that thing has a separate existence from you – it’s nothing to do with you any more.

Just to give them names, we can call type Ones Clingers, and type Twos Refusers.

View original post 1,224 more words

Are You Flagging?

Red flag waving transparent
Red flag waving transparent (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I’ve to some extent discussed before how narcissists fly red flags signalling who and what they are. The problem is that most of us can see that the wind is blowing something around but we don’t know what it is.  If you’re like me, and raised on a sound diet of Hollywood movies, you’re going to set caution firmly aside, walk right up to this thing that’s blowing around and, sighing in relief, say, “It’s okay, it’s a pair of underwear!” Now, if you’re a lot like me, after a moment you’re also going to say, “Actually, it doesn’t really look like a pair of underwear, it might be a flag.” And then you’ll promptly talk yourself out of it because you can’t believe that there would be a flag blowing around, unattended, in the middle of the bald-ass desert.  Which is where you’re going to be if you don’t start recognizing that it’s a flag, and that really, there’s lots more than just one of them.  And anyway, why would it be more logical for a pair of underwear to be blowing around?

I knew you’d want to know. It’s because we want it to be a pair of underwear. Underwear blowing around? That’s funny. You can speculate endlessly on who owned them and how they got out there, all with humourous intent and lots of giggles and baa ha ha -ing.

But a flag? Everyone knows about flags.  Alert: this is mine, all mine. You don’t belong here. Danger: if you don’t leave, I’ll throw a rock at you. Or something worse. Aggression: I’m bigger and better than you. I’m going to mess you up and take your stuff.

Flags carry an incredibly heavy emotional load  and all of it is personal. I recently watched an Anthony Bourdain show about Madrid where the status of the Spanish flag was discussed. Until Spain won the World Cup of Soccer in 2010 and started to view their flag as a positive symbol, they were careful with it. They had viewed it as the flag of Francisco Franco, the dictator they were stuck with for 40 years until 1975 and therefore did not see it as a symbol of national pride.

Essentially, what the Spanish did for 35 years was either ignore or minimize the importance of their flag. It set off alarm bells, caused bad memories to re-surface and drove them into an uncomfortable place. That’s what red flags do, too.

So, even though our biology is telling us to be cautious, to be aware, we are just as capable of ignoring or minimizing those warnings. When it comes to narcissistic red flags, how far will we go to subvert our own better judgement?

Pretty far, if my own experience is anything to go by. For example, very early on I saw Harry’s ability to flip-flop, and that’s how I saw it, too. What I was ignoring were the first signs of his instability. These signs got lost in how brilliant he was at courting me – showering me with compliments and small presents. This was me: “Was that a red flag? No, it can’t be! Let me look at all these compliments instead …” I saw the flag but chose to turn it into a pair of underwear instead.

I also saw his sense of superiority and arrogance, too, but I chose to see them as indicative of a sort of bohemian intelligence a la Jack Kerouac. I came to realize how narrow his interests were – despite his protestations that he is a great reader, he reads only one author who writes mystery/suspense novels. I later saw that Harry likes to envision himself as this author’s central character – he is much more Walter Mitty than Jack Kerouac.

The fact that he owned very little while at the same time carrying an enormous debt load should have been another red flag and in fact was a red flag. I just got busy and rationalized it.  He had explanations for everything, explanations that seemed logical at the time: I live in a travel trailer because my work takes me all over the place. I have a lot of debt because of the lawsuit (some of you may recall that there were actually several lawsuits including one against him) – this followed by a diversionary discussion of how the two women he sued had ruined his life and how I was making it better. I certainly was! I had started paying out money for him, including paying one of his huge debts.

He claimed to be a great cook and in fact often was in the kitchen, but his abilities in that area were very narrow and adolescent. He kept making and eating the same things, most of it junk food. He was obsessed with fruit pies and kept making pastry over and over again and throwing out the results. He threw out lots of other things, too. My grocery bill kept rising and he made no attempt to contribute. I put it down to his culinary perfectionism and chose to listen instead to the siren song of his compliments.

Almost everything that he owned was in poor condition, although saying that he “owned” these items is fanciful, at best. The bank and various credit card companies owned them, and that’s part of the reason why they weren’t well maintained. He didn’t really have any investment in them.  He soon started treating my possessions with the same degree of disrespect and also for the same reason. To off-set any concerns I might have he kept saying that he would “soon” start contributing financially, but that never did happen.

There didn’t seem to be anyone in his life except me. There were no phone calls back and forth between him and his “friends” and his daughter didn’t generate any contact either. He kept telling me that I was the only person who understood him and I chose to start believing that.

During the first year of our relationship we were rather isolated. He had no interest in meeting my friends or family and in fact tried to avoid them. I thought it very affirming that he seemed so focussed on me.

He had no interest whatsoever in my family or family background except as it suited him – he chose to take my surname when we married. I thought that was a lovely tribute! He was just trying to re-invent himself while at the same time escaping some of his creditors.

He wanted to get married as quickly as possible.

With respect to our relationship he at one point told me that I “should be careful what [I] wish for.” He later soothed me by saying that he had just been in a “down mood.”

Before we started living together I seriously considered breaking it off with him, but I had never been much of a “no” person – I lacked personal boundaries – and I was also afraid of being the “bad guy.” Like many women, I wanted to maintain a friendly relationship with him, not cause a bitter split and treat him like the women of his past had treated him. Great, huh? He had so convinced me that I was different and special that even as I was thinking of getting out, I was still buying into his idealization of me. If that’s not master manipulation, I don’t know what is.

Do you see yourself here? Is there a pattern for you? Don’t lie to yourself. Don’t delude yourself. Don’t be afraid to look. Because if you see yourself here, then you’re flagging, and you really will be flagging unless you chose to see the flags and not the underwear.

Get out. It won’t be easy and it won’t be pretty, and he (or she) will try everything, and I mean everything, to stay in your life. There will be crying, howling, cajoling, bribery, lying, threatening, shouting, sobbing and screaming. There might even be “suicide attempts” or “suicidal ideation.” None of this is real. It’s just a stage show designed to get you back so that he (or she) can continue to use you.  So you have to get out, either now or later. Don’t wind up regretting that you ignored the flags.

A Plague of Narcissists

  

English: The Plague of Flies, c. 1896-1902, by...
English: The Plague of Flies, c. 1896-1902, by James Jacques Joseph Tissot (French, 1836-1902), gouache on board, 6 15/16 x 7 3/8 in. (17.6 x 18.7 cm), at the Jewish Museum, New York (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I’m really not sure why this didn’t come up as one of the ten plagues of Egypt. I mean, it would have been a really good one to have.  These people look perfectly normal but are harbouring some of the worst characteristics there are. They could have been a sort of fifth column or Typhoid Mary. Good use could have been made of their natural talents.

They love drama and could have been fomenting plots.

Since everyone wishes they were them, they could have exercised some tenacious mind-control.

They seriously hate themselves and then they project it. So, there could have been a lot of tooth-nashing, mind-controlled followers who were constantly looking over their shoulders for back-stabbers, and therefore completely distracted.

Their constant re-invention would have made them difficult to track down.

Even if they were tracked down, their sense of superiority and ability to fly into a rage would have been very intimidating, crushing any attempts at bringing them under control.

They could have charmed all the kings, pharaohs, despots, crackpots, and so on into giving themselves bankrupt.

 Since they’re mostly a bunch of misogynists, they certainly would have had those women where they belong.

Their natural gift for instability would have had them organizing newer and better wars.

Their lack of gratitude, respect or humility for anyone but themselves would have made them impervious to tampering, tinkering or cajoling.

The shame they feel would have lead the populace to feel sorry for them instead of taking them down.

English: The Plague of Frogs, engraving publis...
English: The Plague of Frogs, engraving published in “La Saincte Bible, Contenant le Vieil and la Nouveau Testament, Enrichie de plusieurs belles figures/Sacra Biblia, nouo et vetere testamento constantia eximiis que sculpturis et imaginibus illustrata, De Limprimerie de Gerard Jollain” (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

A plague of narcissists? Yikes! Forget the frogs and flies and meteorites and boils and sores. Those Old Testament guys would have been in real trouble. Or maybe that is what they had to contend with. The pharaohs weren’t exactly a bunch of diffident, self-effacing humanists.

Maybe that’s what a lot of us have to contend with on a basis that’s much more frequent than we realize.

The person in the cubicle next to you who is jealous and envious.

The “friend” who likes to complain about your other friends.

The neighbour who sets two other neighbours against each other.

The boss who smiles at you one second and rips you apart the next.

I don’t know how much narcissism most of us have to deal with on a day-to-day basis, but it seems to be awfully widespread and at the root of a lot of the crap that goes on in the world.

So, if I wish anything for this new year, it’s that we start to realize how much egoism and self-absorption there is and that we all start to work on it in our own little ways and maybe start a cultural shift away from the selfishness that causes so much pain.

Top Ten Signs That You’re Living with a Narcissist

Carson as Carnac the Magnificent, one of his m... Carson as Carnac the Magnificent, one of his most well known routines (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Since this is the time of year for top ten lists, here’s mine, with my respects to the late Johnny Carson.

 In reverse order, here are the top ten signs that you’re living with a narcissist:

10. While driving, he constantly looks at himself in the rear view mirror. This has resulted in a lot of rear ends.

9. His “bragging wall” now covers the entire house.

8. He’s always singing “I’m too Sexy for My Shirt,” even though there’s a picture of himself on his shirt.

7. You’ve taken to using an oxygen tank as he sucks up all the air in the room.

6. He’s in the Guinness World Book for the greatest number of cosmetic procedures ever performed on a single human.

5. He’s looking into starting his own country and you’re helping him to find an abandoned, isolated island for the purpose.

4. All the mirrors in your house have greasy spots from his nose and lips.

3. He admires the evil queen from Snow White and wants to steal her looking-glass.

2. He believes that Christopher Hitchens is much too mild-mannered for debate and that really, he could beat him in ten minutes, if Hitch was still alive, that is.

And the number one sign that you’re living with a narcissist:

1. Donald Trump is his hero but really, if he were “The Donald,” he would have been much better at it and would have made more money.

And that’s it, dear readers. I wish everyone a Happy New Year and all the best for 2013!

The Seasonal Narcissist … Or, How to Survive a Holiday When There’s a Narcissist Underfoot

You don’t have to be married or partnered with a narcissist in order to have one in your life. Studies show that almost a quarter of us have to interact with  narcissists, although that may just be peripherally. If that’s the case, dealing with them becomes much more difficult because they are likely to be in your life for a long time, if only intermittently. It may sound harsh, but once you make up your mind, you can usually get out of a spousal/partnered relationship with a narcissist, although if there are children involved, you may still have to deal with the narcissist for many years.

Nevertheless, many of us have to, especially around special occasions, look out for what I like to call the seasonal narcissist. This is a person whom you may only see every couple of years or maybe a couple of times a year, since narcissists don’t like to hang out much with their families. He or she is a cousin, aunt, uncle, an in-law or maybe even a sibling, parent or grandparent. The fact that you don’t see the narcissist very often doesn’t make dealing with him or her any easier; in fact, as you probably already know, these narcissists can do a great deal of damage to whatever special occasion is under way.

The reason for this is that special occasions are just not their thing. Special occasions usually involve having others around, sometimes lots of others, to say nothing of the fact that the occasion itself, no matter what it is about, demands attention. Those details can seriously steal their thunder; they know that they will be part of a crowd, or perhaps lost in the crowd. They may be called upon to help out with preparations, cleaning, cooking, washing dishes – things they don’t like doing unless they can get something out of it. Altruism is definitely not one of their traits.

Narcissism
Narcissism (Photo credit: videocrab)

If you think about it, you can see why any special occasion is an absolute minefield for them. They aren’t the centre of attention. They are not the “special ones,” the person with the birthday or wedding anniversary or Easter party or Bar Mitzvah. It’s not all about them. Since their families know them and have probably been exhausted by them, the narcissistic “show” is likely to fall flat and their projections will be ignored. They cannot manufacture a new “self”. They are literally very stuck; nothing from their bag of tricks will work.

For all of these reasons, they will hate to have to go to whatever event it is. They may get dragged there by another family member, the one who always wants to see everyone show up at these shindigs. They may have to go because otherwise it might not look right, and narcissists are all about appearance.  They may go simply for the bragging rights: “I organized all the games!” or, “Without me there singing and playing the piano, the whole thing would have been completely dead.” “My speech was killer!” and so on and so on.

And that leads me to what I believe you have to do to avoid a narcissistic-induced “scene” at your next event. You have to assign them some task or other that allows them to show off and get attention. Otherwise, you will have a mess on your hands.

As I’ve already indicated, these narcissists may feel hemmed in by the fact that nothing from their bag of tricks is working. They may feel as if they are lost in the crowd. They may feel deflated and sorry for themselves. And this is dangerous, because then they will attempt to get attention in any way they can, no matter how negatively or inappropriately. Your event could be completely derailed.

I recall with much distaste the birthday party that I organized for my closest friend and held in my home while I was married to my ex-narcissist. There were some twenty people in attendance, including her children, a number of her friends and a couple of her colleagues. I seriously cannot think about this event without shuddering. All was going well until my narcissist started to very loudly chastise my friend’s son over the courses that he was taking in order to get into medical school.

According to Harry, Evan (my friend’s son) was shirking his academic responsibilities and shouldn’t be allowed into medical school with such foolish courses in his background. This then lead to a tirade about the general watering down of academic requirements and about how much tougher Harry had it when he went to university (supposedly he had to chisel his essays on stone tablets, which of course taught him the value of struggle and determination, something that today’s students also don’t have), that his degree was therefore much more valuable and was in fact the equivalent of  a PhD.

Utter nonsense, of course. He attended a respected university and got an undergraduate degree in engineering.  An academic accomplishment and achievement, yes, but certainly something that many other people have also done.

The business of shouting their “distinctiveness”, especially where their intelligence and academic prowess is concerned, is a common narcissistic trait. Harry rounded out his rant with a treatise on how Evan would never get into medical school and didn’t deserve to.

He only started to wind down when one of Julie’s (my friend whose birthday it was) colleagues started to call Harry on what he was saying. Julie and her colleague are both university teachers and are very familiar with the entrance requirements for medical school – something Harry had forgotten. As Julie’s colleague calmly started to defend Evan’s course choices, Harry began to seeth. He attempted to continue his bluster but eventually gave up. He walked out and didn’t return until after the party was over.

You can imagine what this did to the happy party vibe. We attempted to get back on track but that really didn’t work and the party fizzled out with most people leaving quite early. The worst part was the pity and curiosity that I could feel being directed at me. Their questions were floating around the room inside of big cartoon bubbles. “What is she doing married to that guy?” “Where did she meet him?” “I wouldn’t want to be her when he gets back.”

When Harry returned, however, he was contrite. In one of those flashes of insight that Harry is capable of, he realized how awful his behaviour had been and he regretted it. He thought about writing  letters of apology to Evan and to Julie. Like all of Harry’s good intentions, however, the idea disappeared.

The fact was that Harry’s momentary contrition only came to the forefront because he had gotten what he needed and was feeling better. Soon, though, his desire for more attention and his firm belief in his own superiority eclipsed his sense that he needed to make amends and he sidelined the idea of the letters. Does that make him sound like an addict? Yes. In many ways, narcissists have very similar characteristics to  addicts and vice versa.

So here’s what you have to do if you’re dealing with a seasonal narcissist: first of all, as I’ve already mentioned, give them  highly visible, “important” tasks that will generate lots of attention. He could give a speech or present the gifts or play the piano or do a skit. Play into your knowledge of the narcissist and what he thinks he’s good at.

Be sure to fuss over and flatter the narcissist. If you have to lie, lie. Remember, you’re only doing this for one evening or afternoon or whatever and in this case, lying is the better part of valour. You can go to confession or expiate your lies later. Compliment his hair, clothes, weight loss, new job, whatever. Leave him with the impression that he’s the most important, smartest, best looking person in the room.

Assign someone to stay with the narcissist at all times and to keep him under control. This person should be completely aware of the mission and should be able to indulge in flattery, fussing and outright lying without throwing up. This “shadow” person will also need to ensure that the narcissist does whatever task he has been assigned. Narcissists are usually very undependable.

In the lead-up to the event and on the day, ask for his advice (be careful not to ask him to do what he might consider to be menial tasks) as to how things should be done, organized, carried out, and so on. Publicly acknowledge his help and how you couldn’t have done it without him. Gag later.

Designate someone, particularly someone who has good diplomatic skills, whose job it will be to get him out of the room as quickly as possible if he starts haranguing, pontificating, ranting, shouting or in other ways seeking inappropriate attention.

I can’t guarantee that any of these strategies will work; I’m only improving your odds. The one thing I do know, however, is that when it comes to dealing with narcissists, you can’t be too prepared, so be sure to prepare for this narcissist as much as you would for any other aspect of your special occasion.

Good luck!

One note: my apologies for my frequent use of the male gender when describing narcissists. I don’t mean to offend anyone. Statistically, however, the vast majority of narcissists are male and it is more likely that you will encounter a male narcissist rather than a female narcissist.

Sometimes, life is like that.