Yesterday just wasn’t my day. On top of that, I went to bed angry, which I vowed I’d never, ever do. Now I have to sit and wait until a reasonable hour to go in, snuggle up next to my husband, and hope he forgives me for being such a petulant and uptight ball of hormones yesterday evening.
The day started off as any other Monday would…scratching my head, wondering where the hell the weekend went, dreading the return to a job I really cannot stand but cannot have the luxury of walking away from, and fighting the 7:15 a.m. rush hour that is anything but rushed. You know, one of THOSE days 😉
My leftovers-lunch consisted of a Semmelknodel with some sauteed onions and gravy and one apple. Eaten between customers (and on Mondays there are plenty of those). Needless to say, I was hungry not 2 hours later and hadn’t brought any backup provisions. By the time the end of the workday came around, I was downright ravenous.
BUT, we had plans, so I made do with a Starbucks lemon-berry parfait and a grande Americano at the Barnes and Noble cafe, and then we went over to Target to purchase a blender so Christian could make some habanero salsa with the peppers growing on our Habanero plant in the dining room. After meeting with friends, we finally headed home (and I purposefully chose to cook angel hair pasta because it takes so little time), where Christian wanted to make his salsa WHILE I made dinner, in our 450 square foot apartment. Grrrmph. But, okay, I can deal with that, Amanda.
When it became apparent that his salsa might take longer than my pasta, I decided to take a break and surf online for a bit, to let him catch up, but he insisted that he was almost done. That is, until he put all the contents of his salsa into the blender and pressed “start.” Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Our brand-spanking-new Black and Decker blender was a dud. One hour old and the thing just didn’t start. I wondered to myself if perhaps he didn’t assemble it correctly, but rather than say anything, I just offered to “try” it myself. Nope. He took offense at my “offer,” rightly so, and I took offense that my meal was ready, getting cooler, and he was still fiddling with the blender.
We ate a quiet dinner, the angel hair pasta (with sun-dried tomatoes, tomato paste, olive oil, basil and thyme, and cheese/ham) sticking to the roofs of our anger-parched mouths, the salad over-salted and over-vinegared, and the lack of conversation overwhelmingly deafening.
After dinner, we cleaned up, Christian packed away the defective blender, and I went to brush my teeth, wash my face, and tumble quickly into bed.
I didn’t say goodnight.
About 20 minutes later, just at the cusp of true sleep, I heard Christian say, “Are you awake, Amanda?” I wasn’t awake enough to respond, but I did feel him kiss my shoulder and tell me he loved me. But I continued into my deep sleep.
Now it’s morning, and I look back at last night and wonder why I let things get to a steaming point, ruin our perfectly good dinner, and escalate beyond proportion. What a waste of a perfectly good evening with my wonderful husband. Hormones are such a cruel thing sometimes!
Moral of this story: Retain your optimism, relish your time with your loved ones, and remember: blenders break. That’s what receipts and warranties are for! Go hug your significant other right now, and carpe diem!
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