A short story about a silly fight. Because if you don't find enjoyment in the details of ridiculous, petty arguments...you're taking life far too seriously. Come back at midnight after half a bottle of wine and an entire row of Oreos. Better yet, go immerse yourself in Seinfeld reruns.
So. Last night.
I went to the trouble of fixing yet ANOTHER new recipe. The third one this week (huge for me). Each of which included only the freshest ingredients, a minimum of 3 pans on the stove at all times, and a whole slew of chef-y terms and tricks I had to learn on the fly.
Such as garlic clove. Thank God Ron stepped in and informed me that a clove of garlic is just a piece of that lumpy white thing you buy in the produce section. Pretty sure I was ready to mince 3 of those -- 24 cloves -- for one recipe. With the skin on.
Anyway. So Ron's out running while I'm reading and measuring and stirring and boiling and baking. And I'm super proud of myself because I've got everything all cleaned up and put away and the finished product is already in the oven before he returns. Plus I remembered the garlic bread. And I made salads and put them in the refrigerator to chill.
Basically I was a fully-functioning machine. One that probably should have quit while she was ahead.
But oh no. Instead I decided to go the last mile and spruce up the apartment while we waited for the Tortellini Spinach Bake in Creamy Lemon Sauce to finish baking.
So I step over Ron stretching on the floor about 15 times as I dust the coffee and end tables. (Mild annoyance building) Then I grab the vacuum cleaner and begin vacuuming the hallway.
Meanwhile, Ron stands up and walks down the hallway, presumably to the bathroom to take a shower.
And I'm vacuuming, in my usual fashion. Forward, up the hallway. Then backward, down the hallway. As I'm walking (flying, in Ron's opinion) backward down the hallway I'm not paying any attention to potential roadblocks...because seriously...who gets in the way of a cleaning machine... and I ram straight into Ron.
It startles both of us. I glance back to see him hunched over in the middle of the hallway taking off his socks. The vacuum is still on, so we're yelling over the noise.
Me: Hey! Get out of the way! What the hell are you doing?
Ron: TAKING OFF MY SOCKS!
Me: Why are you taking your socks off in the hallway? Who takes their socks off in the hallway?!
Ron: Last time I looked you were way up there! (points to the living room) How was I supposed to know you'd come running back here! There was no warning! No back-up beeping or anything!
Me: (ranting as I resume vacuuming, moving forward to the living room and gesturing wildly with the hand that's not holding the handle) It doesn't matter! Why would you take off your socks in the hallway!
Ron unplugs my vacuum cleaner.
He gives me his Oh shit I'm in for it look as I stare him down with my You're totally f*ckin in for it look.
Because I mean, here I am, being like the ultimate wifey, and he has the AUDACITY to take his socks off in the hallway and then UNPLUG my vacuum cleaner.
So I drop the handle and walk out the door, slamming it behind me. I hear Ron walk into the bathroom and slam the door as well.
I wasn't so angry I wanted to leave. I was just annoyed enough pretend. Plus there was a print off with the definition of heart disease sitting in the stairwell that apparently no one in our building wanted to claim or pick up for the past two weeks, so I took the opportunity to finally walk it to the dumpster.
Then I march back in, back down the hallway, and swing open the bathroom door before marching into the bedroom and opening the window so the cold air would mess up his hot shower.
He mutters something from behind the curtain, but I can't decipher it over the sound of the vacuum. I finish the living room and he's still showering, so I signal a semi-truce by shutting the bathroom door and closing the window.
As I'm retrieving our meal from the oven, Ron walks in the kitchen.
Ron: You know, unplugging the vacuum isn't the most offensive thing in the world. And why can't I take my socks off in the hallway?
Me: First of all, it's RUDE. Don't ever mess with my vacuum. Second, it doesn't make sense! You either take them off in the bedroom and put them in the hamper, or take them off in the bathroom, before you take your shower. The hallway is neither of those places. The hallway, is a thoroughfare. A highway. You don't stop on a highway.
Ron: You don't reverse on a highway either, yet there you were.
Damnit. I couldn't help but laugh. Point Ron.
The pasta was good, by the way. Although I'll probably use a little less cayenne pepper next time. That crap is POTENT!