My partner and I have been arguing lately.
Likely because we’re at that point in a relationship where our “quirky” personality traits have lost their lusty splendor, and humanized into regular, every day irritations –
I was clearing the table after dinner last night.
In my view (which is, of course, the only one), I’d been helpful. The loving, easygoing girlfriend.
“Shit, did you clean this pan with soap?” I hear from the far side of the kitchen.
The aforementioned monologue in mind, I gripped down on the white plates that now peculiarly resembled killer frisbees:
An exasperated sigh. “Damn, okay. This one can’t be cleaned with soap or it ruins the bottom.”
He stared at it like a child grieving ice cream that just fell out of the cone.
I lost it in that beautiful way people sometimes do. Slowly, subtly, and then with a rip-roaring bang.
It’s always easy to consider ourselves even-tempered, until we’re not.