Why do Ronnie and I get in a fight over every other meal as we try to decide what to eat? It has something to do with the dilemma of eating healthy versus eating conveniently and who will do the cooking versus who will go pick it up. And for some reason Ronnie always leaves the decision up to me, and it is just a decision that I prefer NEVER to make.
Why is it that during the SAME week of EVERY month, Ronnie still cannot understand why I couldn’t care any less if he was another pair of holey socks that I had to match and put away in a drawer? Do I need to start wearing a sign?
Why is it that while I should dare not interrupt his TV-watching if it’s not a commercial, he gets so insulted if I don’t have a clever response to whatever his question was while I was engrossed in an exciting chapter of the book I was reading?
Why is it that no matter how many gazillion more stinky diapers I have changed than him in my extended time that I am home with our daughter while he is at work, he insists that his changing just one disastrous diaper makes him hero for the month? And then he must again remind me of the black tar poopy diapers that he dealt with after Skyler’s birth while my body was recovering from nearly being ripped in two, thus rendering me deservedly immobile. Kudos, Ronnie, KUDOS! Trade ya places next time, deal?
Why is it sometimes so hard to get on the same page as the one you love the most?