Yesterday G, Q and I were driving home and G and I had a squabble about something. I can’t remember what, but I’m sure it went something like this;
G ‘You’re picking again. Stop it.’
N ‘And you’re missing the point again. If you didn’t miss the point I wouldn’t have to pick.’
Q ‘AAAAAAAAAAAAGH’ (She doesn’t particularly care for car travel).
G ‘It doesn’t matter though.’
N ‘No, it does matter. It just doesn’t matter to you.’
G ‘You need to learn to let things go.’
N ‘And you need to learn to notice things that are important, even if you don’t think they are.’
This verbal volley continued along Victoria Road, (interspersed with Q’s sounds of indignation at having her freedom confined) until G came out with this;
‘I’m going to get a t-shirt printed that says ALL STOCK MUST GO with an arrow pointing to you.’
This is the good thing about our arguments. There’s a fair chance one of us will say something ridiculous, and even though I bite my cheeks, I usually can’t help but laugh.
It’s really hard to stay mad when you’re laughing. Plus you lose a fair amount of credibility with your opponent.
G and I are both stubborn.
And we’re both hot heads.
And we wonder why Q is the way she is.
So fights (or heated discussions as I like to label them) are not regular, but not unheard of either.
(Hopefully this just marks us as a normal couple and doesn’t make all you readers fat with smugness over your perfectly calm and perfectly perfect relationships).
He’s a chef and I’m a performer.
We were hardly going to sit quietly in our rocking chairs and share the crossword now were we?
So we developed a code word for when we’re getting a bit hot under the collar and no inappropriate joke is on the horizon.
So if, in a couple of months when the restaurant is open, neither of us has slept in 9 weeks, Q is giving me mother guilt for not being there at night to tuck her in and the bills are coming in faster than the income, and you hear us shout the word ‘san diego’ you’ll know why.
Welcome to Monday people.
Keep calm and carry on.