UPDATE: Ok, he did apologize the next day.
At this moment, I would rather be mad at my husband than make up. And he would rather be mad at me.
One of those stupid fights. He’s struggling with the remote, which apparently isn’t responding to any of the buttons he’s pushing. I’m on the laptop, totally unaware of his remote problems. Whatever channel we’re on, a promo comes on, We’re your headquarters for holiday movies! and I look up and say, “Ooh cool.” He turns to me, bristling with hostility, and says, “Here. Fine. You take the remote.”
Oh the layers of sublimated rage. The years and years of resentment over a wife that — how inconvenient! — occasionally has an opinion that’s different than yours. Or, perhaps — that bitch — is momentarily delighted by the idea of holiday movies on a snowy Saturday night. Fine, you diaper the baby. Fine, you pick out the wall color. Fine, you take the remote.
New Age Sensitive Man channels his inner Ralph Kramden.