“So where do you want to go for lunch?” he asked.
I gritted my teeth.
Are there 50 ways to kill your lover? I could use them all, twice.
“I don’t know,” I said carefully, “Wherever you want is fine. You know I can’t choose and I hate making this kind of decision anyway.”
“Oh, so I have to be The Man in this relationship?”
“You are the man in this relationship.” Although you act like a boy, I added silently.
“C’mon babe. Just choose a place.”
“Fine. Let’s go to Wang Lee.”
“God, Chinese again! Don’t you get tired?”
“Okay, let’s go to La Italia.”
“Please babe. Seriously?”
I threw down my pen. “This is why I don’t like to choose. You ALWAYS do this. You ALWAYS DO this.”
The problem with fighting in a relationship is that there’s always one fight simmering underneath. And it’s a default setting.
That’s the one that goes from 0 to 100 in 5 seconds, even if it’s not a big deal. The street brawler in you, looking to bust shit up.
“God, why do you need to fly off the handle all the time? What’s your problem, we’re just talking for chrissakes!”
I took a deep breath. I didn’t have time to do this. “Okay, please, just pick a place ok? You know I’m okay with anything.”
“Right, you always SAY that and then you complain about there being no vegetarian options wherever we are.”
I stared at him. “That was once. At a STEAK place. You took me to a STEAK place and what was I supposed to eat?”
“Oh, please. You could have had the side salad. You could have had French fries.”
I looked away. And wondered how many miles further we’d be pushing this thing.
How many times must you hurt someone or watch them hurt you, till you walk away?
How many times must the relationship poke you in the ribs, for you to realise it’s dead?