I have a very sweet kind patient husband.

We share almost the exact same sense of humour, (meaning we both laugh a lot at puppies falling over and noisy farts).

He supports my every move, encourages all my passions, reads all these daily scribbles (even though he doesn’t like reading) and is my loving refuge when I’m feeling down and out.

He is in every sense, my best friend.

Which is why it’s quite surprising that today as he drove me home from work we had a huge shouting row.

It was the dumbest argument ever; they always are of course, but this one really took the biscuit, with each of us trying to shout the other one down and getting more angry and more insistent by the minute

Neither one of us is a violent person (although I have my moments with the odd customer at work…) and yet here we were practically engaged in a battle of mortal combat of “I’M RIGHT YOU’RE WRONG”.

Once home, Alex was so mad and distracted he parked the car too close to the house and couldn’t open his door properly, having to squeeze out slowly and awkwardly, all the while yelling at me.

Meanwhile I slammed the gates shut and followed him furiously inside.

The argument continued in the bedroom while I changed out of my uniform and pulled on my hoodie and comfy pants, the two of us still bickering, still trying to prove ‘I’M RIGHT YOU’RE WRONG’.

In the midst of the fiery tempest, my poor Mum timidly brought in some of our laundry.  There was a brief stony silence while she inquired cautiously about one or two sweaters before quickly retreating and allowing our battle to resume.

Eventually I stormed off to the dining room (aka ‘office’) to do some work, Alex stormed outside to smoke a cigarette and a smoking silence descended on the house, that dangerous quiet when you’re not sure if it’s the calm after the storm or you’re merely passing through the eye with further wild fury yet to come.

Minutes ticked by, my rage gradually died down and finally (as always) my very sweet, kind patient husband entered the dining room with a hot cup of tea for me and a peace-making smile of apology.

Turns out it was the calm after the storm.

That’s my husband: always the one to offer the ‘olive branch’ after a big row, always ready to hug it out and move on.  Me, I like to stew in self-righteous anger for a good few hours (or sometimes days/weeks) before finally feeling ready to make peace.

Thank God we’re not both like that, otherwise we’d never have lasted this long.  At least with one of us being slightly more mature and grown up about things (slightly) we should be able to share many more years laughing at dumbass Youtube videos (and maybe having the odd disagreement here and there).

I certainly hope so.

Ciao darlings!

Lizzie xxxx