For Argument’s SakePosted: January 29, 2013
I walked through the cold rain, clicking my heels a little faster and harder than necessary as we walked across the parking lot towards the movie theater.
“What, are you trying to run away from me?” my husband asked with anger still in his voice.
“I’m just trying to get out of the rain.” True. But also, I was trying to run away from him.
We paid for two tickets to see Reacher and headed toward the snack bar.
“Do you want anything?” I asked.
“Whatever you want.”
We waited in line in silence. As I combed the knots from my long, wet hair with my fingers, my eyes caught a young couple standing in the line next to ours. They were holding hands. They were smiling at each other in a way only new lovers do. I took in a long breath, and as I exhaled, I let my shoulders relax, releasing them from the tension I hadn’t realized they carried. I grabbed my husband’s hand and smiled at him.
“Can we please just enjoy the rest of the night?” I asked.
“Yeah.” He squeezed my hand. Maybe a little harder than required. Sure, we were late for the movie to start, but his sister-in-law needed my blogging advice. I just had to help her right then. But he was definitely wrong that I do that kind of thing all the time. Or at least I was pretty sure.
We watched the movie, holding hands and cuddling in the seats. I clenched his thigh during the suspenseful parts. He tried to pull my hands away from my face when someone was about to get shot.
After the movie, we drove to the restaurant that he had suggested. It was a small, Italian spot in the basement floor of a shopping center. Nothing I would have chosen on my own, but I liked the atmosphere. Behind my husband was a large poster featuring Michelangelo’s David (from the waist up) in an ad for Italian imported wines. I wanted a picture for my Instagram account. I could picture the caption now: “My anniversary #date… No, the guy with the #beard, not the one that’s #chiseled.” I thought it was clever. My husband had other thoughts.
“Why do you always have to share every single moment with the world? Can’t some things be just between us?”
“I do keep a lot of things just between us. I like to write and share things with people. I sit at home with our baby all day. Don’t get me wrong, I love it. But it’s nice to have adult interaction too.”
“Maybe if you weren’t always checking your Facebook or Instagram, you and I could have a lot more interactions.”
A valid point.
“It’s our anniversary, and we can’t even go on one date without arguing!” he said.
I felt a little hurt. And a lot to blame. But I couldn’t let it go yet.
“Well, maybe we could if you were willing to do something together other than watching sports or the history channel. I can only stay interested in that for so long, and then I get bored. Your idea of spending time together is watching TV. What’s the difference between you being glued to the TV and me being glued to the Internet?”
“There’s a difference. Watching TV together, at least we are involved in the same activity, and we can laugh and talk about it.”
Another decent point.
“I’m just trying to enjoy our night together. Rarely can we afford the time or money to go out, and we can’t even enjoy it, because we’ve been arguing all night!” he said.
“You’re not enjoying it? What about the movie?” I asked. He read the disappointment on my face.
“It’s not that I’m not enjoying it. The movie was fine.”
“When we weren’t talking,” I noted.
“Well, yeah. At least we weren’t arguing.”
“Babe, I’ve got news for you,” I said, “We argue all the time.”
“Not ALL the time,” he said.
“Yes, we do. Name a time when we’re not arguing about something.”
He thought for a minute. “When we’re driving home after visiting our parents, and the kids are asleep.”
“Okay, yes, that’s one. When you’re trying to make me laugh or keep me awake,” I said.
“Right. And then there’s…” Silence.
“My point is, we argue all the time. Why should our anniversary be any different? Most of the time, it’s not even a big deal and we end up laughing it off as soon as it starts. Just because we argue doesn’t mean we can’t have fun doing it.” I smiled at him. Winked.
As he thought, I reached across the table and held his hand. We argued about whether or not we were going to order an appetizer, and if we did, which one, and then we ate and talked and laughed and discovered about a dozen other little arguments between then and picking up our boys.
We drove home in the rain, with the boys asleep in the backseat, listening to the radio.
“I had a great time with you tonight,” I said.
“I had a good time with you too.”
I reached for his hand, and squeezed it tight, happy that we agreed.
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