Mr. O came home for lunch today and we had a very eruptive argument over what I think gives me inspirations and what he thinks I should do with my spare time. We usually get along so well that once in a blue moon a difference in opinion threw a curve ball at us that surprises me, like, what the hell, where is this coming from?
He came home in the evening and we have each other silence treatment. Tension was so thick that I cannot cut through it even with a cleaver. The argument continued in passive aggressive way. Heck, who should speak of truce first? I think he and I were on the same plane for that question.
Anyway, we are now cool because he is easily bought with ice cream. I picked up Tendril from work and we decided that ice cream would solve everything. So I bought two tubs of Ben and Jerry’s, his favorite. And ice cream does it like magic.
Our walls collapsed, tension melt away, and all is good.
But I told him, I am not June Cleaver. I am me, and I do the best I can, even when I walk around in sweat pants and a t-shirt, smelling like the kitchen. I do the best I can, and don’t expect me to be the perfect June Cleaver of past decades. She is an unattainable image that does not really apply in my world.