You know those couples who are constantly picking fights with each other? The ones who have loud, cringe-worthy public arguments that you can’t help but slyly watch out of the corner of your eye?
T and I are not one of those couples. We’re not even one of those couples who argue at home. We just don’t fight. At all. Period.
I’m not saying we have some kind of flawless, majestic relationship that you should all aim to achieve. Not at all. I think we’re both just relatively logical, non-argumentative people. So arguments do not occur in our household.
Sounds pretty great right?
So we don’t fight. But we do have our… moments. I’d call them tiffs, but they’re not even that. They’re more like tiny, insignificant things that we ever so slightly disagree on. But because we have the oh-so-convenient argument-free relationship, all of a sudden these benign tiffs are the worst debates imaginable.
For instance. The other night T picked up a hoody off the floor, a hoody which happened to have my precious external hard drive sat on it. A hard drive which then stumbled 5mm onto the floor. A HUMONGOUS TECHNOLOGY-DESTROYING DROP OF FIVE WHOLE MILLIMETRES! THE WORST!
Or so I thought at the time. I was not impressed. I kicked off. Moaned relentlessly. Brought up every single time when T had broken something and acted ever so slightly clumsy.
T just stared at me as if I was being a ridiculous lunatic. Which of course I was.
I further displayed my mild annoyance by getting into bed, facing away and reading. Mild annoyance. Not even anger. Because by this point the moment had gone and I didn’t even care anymore. But of course I couldn’t let T know that. No, no, no. She needed the silent treatment. She needed to be punished for her heinous crime.
The silent treatment lasted a whole five minutes, at which point I timidly said her name and asked her to come and hug me. And the “tiff” was over. We went to sleep. End of story.
Example numero dos. On a drunken evening with the housemates, we all decide it’s time to call it a night and disappear to our respective bedrooms. T, rather inebriated and sleepy, very sweetly enquires as to whether we can just go to sleep, implying no drunken naughty times. Of course. So we go to bed. Where she immediately turns on her saucy seductions (when drunk: less saucy, more messy). I politely question the sudden change of heart.
This does not go down well. T is mad. She has been rejected. Drunk and mad is a bad combination. Suddenly we’re in one of our pointless tiffs and I go to my usually unslept-in room. Of course I expect T to come in 5 minutes later looking shameful at her ridiculous outburst. Or for me to slink back in there laughing at our ridiculous selves.
But this does not happen. Because we can both be stubborn buggers. And it is not until about 4 hours later that we return to our logical selves and get back into bed. Another end of story.
We will engage in this little charade about once a fortnight. I would share more with you, but I really can’t recall them, because they’re so insignificant.
So I find myself wondering – is this normal? Of course many couples are just like us and don’t really argue. But do they then find themselves ludicrously blowing up over the tiniest thing for no apparent reason? Maybe the secret to a happy relationship is a good ol’ fight, so we need to pick them to maintain happiness. I think I’ve stumbled across a relationship breakthrough.