Yesterday, Rhiannon and I ran a few errands after supper. We went in to the trip with differing concepts of how many stops we would be making and how long we were planning on being out. This created a little tension between the two of us as we realized that we weren’t on the same page and neither of us was happy about it. One of us may have said a few things in a rude tone and the other of us may have not talked very much after that (and you know that it isn’t me you’d worry about not talking much).
As we walked past the sliced cheese and fresh pasta that I’ve been meaning to get for sometime at the grocery store and headed over to our favorite section, the doughnuts, Rhiannon started to let out a large sigh. Over the years we’ve been married, and even before then, Rhiannon has shown a slight tendency to injure herself in the course of daily activity, like a rolled ankle or a quick fall down the stairs; nothing life-threatening, but enough to make me concerned.
I asked her what the sigh was for, worried she might be hurt in some way.
“That was me, letting it go. At least until you interrupted me.”
“By all means, continue with the letting as much as needed.”
“Nope, too late. It all got sucked back in. I’m still not talking to you.”
“This might not be a bad situation.”
“… You’re not doing yourself any favors.”
For all the talking I don’t do, you’d think I’d know when not to say anything. But I don’t. That’s what makes life so interesting. And the fact that I’m writing about the situation should be enough to let you know that we worked it out like any good married couple does – we went home, ate some sugar cookies from Target, and I fixed the French tip on one of Rhiannon’s toenails that had chipped since the wedding last weekend.
It’s these situations that I refer to as “The time that Rhiannon holds a grudge longer than necessary” and she refers to as “The times she eventually lets things go rather than smothering me in my sleep”.
I think we have a nice arrangement between the two of us.