(Good friends have heard this, sorry for the repeat - too good not to share)Most of my blog posts reflect on parenting and all that comes with. Switching gears with this one in an attempt to share some humor, and reality.
Friday night. Got home from work, after a brief Craigo's happy hour, and Dom is anxious to go to Johnny Finn's. Important detail here is the conversation on the phone in the car ride home. It was one of those that started, "yeah things are great, love you, love you too" and went to "yeah. fine. whatever. bye!"
Second important detail: Not a happy camper when I arrive home. I am also not one to just 'forget it' and move on the with the evening. I am a talker. I need to talk, talk some more, to the point of resolution and exhaustion. Dom - he can shut down and get silent, and it drives me CRAZY. So, I'm like an annoying mosquito he can't kill. Lovely way to start the weekend.
He goes over to the stove to make a grilled cheese sandwich for dinner because clearly we are not going anywhere. He has his back to me, and I am going and going and going, and then I crossed the line. I questioned him, his manhood, and all things never to be spoken of again - I ask, "where did your balls go?"
That was it, I did it. I went there - that place in an arguement you should never go but realize quickly there is no return. You must face it, own up to it, and apologize excessively.
So I made my comment and it went still, and silent in our house. Dom turns around with frying pan in hand, and hurls the grilled cheese across our kitchen, into the dining area. Spatula quickly followed and landed in the corned. I am standing there, staring, and coming to terms with the fact that a grilled cheese just launched my direction.
He grabs his keys, heads for the door, and is gone until 9:00 p.m. that night. Note to self: NEVER SAY THAT AGAIN. Oh, and we need bread.