Sometimes -
[because I'm sure every other couple out there is just like us, has their spats every once in a while - whether big, small, serious or silly, I'm pretty sure every couple has had discussions like the one last night, but I digress...]
Sometimes - the husband and I disagree.
Whether it's about what to watch, how we spend our time, or who's right and who's wrong, we disagree.
I've accepted, it's a natural part of a relationship. We've most definitely had our [high]ups and [low]downs, but through it all we've prevailed. It's what makes us, us. It's what attracted me to him and him to me. We push each other.
Tonight I found myself at a gas pump at 10pm, in thin sweats and sweater, crying. The guy in front of me pumping his gas turned around and did a double take. I just glared back through my tears.
Yes, I look like a damn mess and I'm crying while pumping my gas. That's what I do when I'm mad/upset/frustrated/sad/defeated.
And now looking back on it, was that silly little tiff worth ending up at that gas station, freezing, and tears streaming down my face? Was being right that important to me? Am I really that fragile that hearing words I hear every single day, but when spoken by my husband hurt me a little?
No. No it wasn't. I feel silly, ashamed and sniffly from crying. However, I do take solace in knowing that [everytime in the last six years] we've prevailed
that's why
everytime - whenever we spat/tiff/discuss/argue/disagree...
I know it will be ok soon.
