I have only met men like you in novels, men who lived their own idiosyncrasies.
I sometimes go and sit there. it is my museum of broken things.
At the meeting you behaves exactly as Marathi novelists of the last century tell is husbands do in sari shops.
Those who choose differently must suffer the consequences. They must take the pain their decisions bring.
I felt the kind of peace you feel when you come in from a hot afternoon and pour cold water over your feet.