Sunday, April 26, 2009


I have noticed that, during my illustrious marriage, the Man and I don't fight like normal people.
We don't fight over big stuff. Well, not very often.
We fight over stupid shit
Seriously, we almost called off our engagement over whether or not a sandwich was currently at McDonald's. (It was. I won. Just a precursor of things to come.)
We don't fight about religion (not any more) or politics or how to raise the heathens.
We fight about why in God's name he didn't tell me we had only one baby wipe left in the house or the dogs were down to their last kibble when he knows I'd been at the store just that morning.
We fight over whose driving and whose riding. (In the car you dirty minded pervs!)
We fight over why he won't pick where he wants to eat when we're out, and why I always have to choose for his stomach.
And in the end, when he's finally mad, I'm laughing, because he's huffing and puffing like an asthmatic freight train and I'm on the down side of my mad.
And we've always been like this. He's a slow boil, I'm a force of nature. I'll level cities, he'll meander along taking out the stray survivor. He's mild and easy going, I'm anal and uptight.
We're exact opposites, which makes us the worst married set in the world and the best suited to each other.
We are battled hardened warriors. We are survivors of marriage for thirteen years. And we fight like cats and dogs And then I laugh like a crazed hyena sucking down nitrous oxide.
Strange how things work out that way, isn't it?

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