I stood at the counter, dishing vanilla ice cream into my bowl. I was really looking forward to climbing into bed with it balanced on my enormous stomach and watching mindless TV while the baby somersaulted until the sugar left my system. You walked downstairs and into the kitchen and stood watching me from behind. You looked at my bowl and you looked at the spoon I was using.
"I don't know why you have to use THAT spoon to scoop your ice cream. Why aren't you using the ice cream scoop?" I tried to point out that the ice cream was soft enough, I didn't want to wash the scoop in addition to the spoon when you cut me off and said, "Why do you ALWAYS have to argue with me? Don't you know you could bend that spoon? That's an expensive spoon we got as a wedding gift. Do you want to ruin it?" You walked away in disgust. You ignored me for the rest of the night. I took my bowl of ice cream and my pregnant belly up to bed. I don't remember if you joined me there or not.
I sit here now, in my house, with our wedding silverware sitting clean (and unbent) in my kitchen drawer and I'm wondering....are you still worried about that fucking spoon? I thought not.