I know I'll never be good enough for you, so perhaps you shouldn't be good enough for me.
But your endless desire to be better stops this from happening, and hence there's only one thing that I can do...
and that is to raise the requirements and expectations I have of you, such that you can never achieve them.

Either that, or the problem lies with you.

In which case, it would be nice for you to know that you are about as safe to encounter as a case of hemlock darts fitted in a tennis ball feeder.

I won't say any more.
I won't so much as ask for presents this year.
Bah, Christmas. Humbug.