Tuesday, February 14, 2006
Mom slept over last night, so Yaakov and I decided to take a ride over to Borders. He wanted to buy more train magazines. Not magazines to read while on a train, but magazines about trains (he's a rail-fan).
We walked around and perused the books. We contemplated buying a chess set that was 75% off, but who has the time for chess anymore? We went into the music section, where I got to listen to the new (and very funky) Stevie Wonder CD. You readers know that I am trying not to listen to secular music, and for the most part I succeed. But every now and again...
Anyway, we sat down. Yaakov had coffee and I mooched off him. We talked. Yaakov talked. On and on he went, about how Iran is going to start selling oil for euros instead of dollars, and how this will affect our economy, and this is an excuse to invade them, and blah blah. And then the housing market, and interest and mortgages, yada yada.
We got in the car to go home and I thought, "This is really romantic. Our first night out alone since I can't remember when, and Yaakov dishes out a monologue about current events." I was feeling a little testy. Then I started to say something, and Yaakov interrupted me. It turned into a big fight. I was fuming. After the whole night of talking, you can't let me have my one dinky little sentence?
So Yaakov went on the porch to smoke and brood, and I got ready to go to sleep. But not before I wrote a really nasty note to him - IN ALL CAPITAL LETTERS SO HE WOULD KNOW I WAS REALLY MAD - and taped it to the bathroom mirror. I laid in bed and waited to hear him come in. As I laid there, my virtuous Jewish soul started tchepping me. "You don't really want him to get that note, do you? All it's going to do is hurt his feelings. What will that accomplish? Besides, when you da'aven before you go to sleep, you forgive people who have "angered or vexed you" throughout the day. Doesn't that include your husband, huh, huh?" So I got out of bed and took the note down. When I heard him come inside, I thought to myself, "You don't know the trauma I just spared you, mister."
Isn't that a nice story for Valentine's Day?