Where's Christiane?

I'm standing at the stove, stirring the sauce for our dinner. It's been a very difficult day, and I am anxious for it to be over.

"Are we going out for dinner?"

"No, I'm cooking dinner right now," I respond. We did go out for dinner, but the evening wasn't going well. At. All. I won't go into it, because it's still too raw. I'm embarrassed and humiliated, and we can't show our faces there again. Not today, anyway. We came home without eating or even finishing our beverages. He doesn't remember a thing about our outing (or our other outings today, for that matter), and he's irritated that I seem to be upset with him for some reason.

"Is Joanne here?" Joanne is his sister. She lives in another town and visits regularly.

"No," I respond, "She's at home at her house."

"Where's Chris? Or Christiane?" he draws my name out sarcastically. It's most unbecoming. I'm upset at his sarcasm at my expense, but I've already heard so much of it today that it really doesn't add anything to my irritation.

"I'm Christiane," I respond. I'm dejected.

It's been a very difficult day, and I just want it to be over. He eyes me up and down. Clearly, he isn't convinced that it's really me. It isn't the first time.

"Oh," he sneers, "I thought you were someone else. Where's the guy that was here?"

There's been no guy here. It's been a very difficult day. I just want it to be over.