I mumbled passive aggressive statements at K all the way from our front door to the neighborhood playground in the last days of our two week holiday break.
[Because I am, like, so totally mature.]
“Look,” he said. “You’re in a really bad mood. Why don’t you take a walk, have some time alone and see if it makes you feel any better?”
“Because you’ll be a martyr about it!” I said.
He threw up his hands, looked to the heavens, shrugged his shoulders and made that face, the one that says,
“FIFTY YEARS WITH HER, GOD? ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME?!!”
“Alright! Alright! Give me the house key,” I demanded.
K took it off his key ring and tossed it to me.
Without another word I stormed off in a huff and marched towards home.
There were only thirty minutes of daylight left and the walk home was easily that long.
The whole way home I muttered cartoon character complaints under my breath.
“Rucka sfrana snorka blurkcka, blah, blah, blah.”
“…and another thing..."
“EVERYONE GET AWAY FROM ME!!”
I am certain that to any outside observer I appeared to be a complete, raving lunatic.
[Or talking on a blue tooth.]
I stomped as I walked.
I furrowed my brow.
[Categorically, I would have to call it an old-school, jerk-style tantrum.]
Finally I reached the back door of our house, unlocked it and went inside only to hear our car pull into the driveway.
I hadn’t even unzipped my coat.
I turned around and went back out to help K with the small people.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to take it out on you. It's just... I just feel… crowded.”
“I know,” he said. “You’re funny.”
That's a nice way to put it.
Today I'm not crowded.
Today, conditions are perfect.
Today is the first day of…