Across the Great Divide

Right after I entered my previous post – having consumed the aforementioned bottle of wine – I proceeded to initiate a fairly spectacular fight with my husband that lasted about 2 hours. It was the “money fight”. At a certain point in living together/marriage, the fights take a very predictable course.

In our repertoire, there is the “money fight”, the “You are a slob” fight; the “I am a superior parent” fight often intermingled with the “I am a better human being” fight.
While occasionally a new argument will emerge – these are the basic quartet.

Generally, I am a mellow and happy drunk. I giggle, I tell secrets and then I fall asleep. Last night, however, I was not. I was determined to prove my sober husband WRONG about how much money I deposited into the house checking account. He gets on line and starts checking banking statements against other banking statements and I think, “FUCK!!!!” since I am not really super sure about my stance, but now I have to defend it in the face of potentially contradictory on-line banking statements.

I get surly. I turn off the light. I roll over in bed and refuse to answer questions. He starts using the phone banking service for MY checking account to verify dates that I transferred money. I am trapped in my semi-drunken, obstinate state. So I do the only thing left to me in this situation …… I cry.

This is a risky tactic. My husband is not a man to be swayed by tears. It didn't work when I thought I wanted another baby, or a cat, or when I wanted our daughter to stay in private school ( even though on that one I cried in a restaurant - I thought I was golden for sure!)

But tonight, he softens. He rubs my feet, He kisses my back. He tells me that he loves me and that everything is going to be ok. But that I still have to transfer the money in the morning.

And that is why I love him.