I would love to say that my husband and I never fight. That we exist as two co-dependent peas in a pod and that our morning breathe smells like gummy bears and sunshine. But this would be a lie. We do fight. Not often, and usually not for more than ten minutes (I have a short attention span, and being mad is boring), but we do fight.
A few days ago, we were talking with some friends about being in Florence, Italy last year. My husband laughed and said, “Yeah, I really thought you were going to murder me.” And all the memories of considering pushing him out in front of a bus came flooding back. I either had to walk away from the story or hire a bus to finish the job. And this is why. (more…)