Thursday, October 7, 2010

Ninja Secrets

So, DH and I don't fight often.  But when we do, let's just say I tend to have a flair for the theatrics.

Our most recent "disagreement" left me storming out of the bedroom, Scarlett O'Hara style, screaming something on the lines of "Fine!  I'm sleeping in the guest bedroom tonight!"  Blankie and purse in tow, I burst into our sparsely furnished guest bedroom and flung myself dramatically across the half-made queen-sized bed.

This certainly is NOT a Tempurpedic mattress, I thought, as I almost bounced right back off onto the floor.

First line of defense in fight:  Cry loudly.  Loudly enough that DH might fear that I am being tortured and come to my rescue with armfuls of apology...and maybe a snack.

When the tortured crying didn't do the trick, I had to turn to a new defense plan.  Maturity kicked in with the idea of going for a "little drive".  Since I had my purse with me, my car keys were readily accessible so I slipped into the garage like a sobbing stealthy ninja, opened the garage door and backed out into the night.

Halfway through the neighborhood it dawned on me that I had nowhere to go.  And I was wearing pajamas.  Great...  I decided on the Winn-Dixie parking lot about one whole whopping mile from our neighborhood.  I am such a mastermind.

Now what?

After about ten minutes of sitting under a buggy street light in my car ALONE, wallowing in self-pity (thanks to some depressing music, compliments of the "New Moon" soundtrack) DH and I began texting.  Apparently he actually did hear me leave.  So much for my ninja stealth mode.  But I wasn't quite finished making my point, whatever that may have been.  I wanted to make him wait it out.  To miss me darn it!  Yes, just wait.  My elaborate plan is working.  You are falling into the depths of despair without me by your side...

Oh crap.

I have to pee.  I have to pee and I'm in my PAJAMAS.

The thought of traipsing through a public grocery store in my PJ's with my hair standing on end and puffy bags under my eyes was not as appealing as my quickly growing bladder wished it could be.  I even resorted back to my childhood and sat in my empty car with my legs crossed as tightly as they would go.  Nope.  Not working.

So in the end, I was betrayed by my stupid bladder.  I went home.  To my sweet, happy-to-have-me-back-home husband.  And the potty.  We made up, of course, and I learned a few valuable lessons:

1.  Sometimes a large cup of juice with your dinner can save a marriage.

2.  Invest in a good mattress.  Not only in your master bedroom, but the spare bedroom also.  Just in case.

3.  Ninjas don't cry.

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