I guess you could say I’m extraordinarily lucky. After all, my partner and I don’t argue like some people we know. We have either plenty or none of the usual suspects:
Money, kids, and sex
I’ll let you decide which is which in the none vs. plenty categories.
When there is disagreement, it takes a completely and annoyingly frivolous form – food. Tempers genuinely flare over the, “What’s for dinner?” and staying in as opposed to eating out quandary. The first query sounding innocent enough, my hackles now rise to be asked what I'm hungry for. Our initial problem lies in the fact that I often don’t care one iota what I eat. I’ve been known to say I wish my nutrition could be administered through an IV so that I didn’t have to stop writing.
Unfortunately, “I don’t care” isn’t an adequate answer no matter how many times it’s repeated as I’m forced to play “twenty questions”. Asking for a direct opinion in response earns me a quibbling, “It’s up to you.”
One evening, I replied to that by heating a package of frozen vegetables, the closest my interest comes to cooking these days. Instantly harangued and ultimately guilted into dining out, I did not much enjoy my meal or the company that night.
More recently, I received curt but ambiguous answer to my genuine desire for Thai cuisine. “I’m working.”
Perplexed, I said, “I don’t mean to be a pest and I’ll leave you alone to work, but what exactly does that mean?”
The reply was snapped readily over a slumped shoulder. Angrily slit eyes made me take a step back, mentally if not physically. “It means I’m working!”
“So, does that mean we’re staying in tonight?”
On the way to the kitchen in order to stuff my face with the handiest leftovers, I grumbled, “Was that so fucking hard?”
For good measure, I shut my partner’s office door and cranked up some heavy Japanese rock.
Now I ask you, what trips your argument trigger? Inquiring minds want to know.