“I am sorry you had to see that.”

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For the record, highly commended. Was robbed, naturally.

I married a man who doesn’t want for much. He is quite happy tinkering with his motorbike, digging and planting stuff in the garden, drinking endless cups of tea while scouring Gumtree, groping me at every available opportunity and having formal financial meetings with me to discuss the state of our own economy. He is a great dad, a dutiful son and a commendable husband, despite being an octopus.

And sure, he isn’t perfect because newsflash, nobody is. He does not have a bum to speak of, therefor there is a constant builders crack situation occurring. Sometimes, I like to drop a pen into it.

But on the weekend he threw a rare, but notable, mantrum.

We were having some friends over for dinner on Saturday night when I realised that we had no nibbles to serve with drinks. So we went up to the quick-e-mart to peruse the cheese isle. The problem was, looking back on it now with the benefit of hindsight, we didn’t communicate, nor did we have a plan. Time was not on our side, so I strode those isles, throwing things into my basket while Mr. Woog spent a long time choosing a bottle of red. We met at the checkout where I unloaded my basket, which included a wheel of brie, some South Cape Spring Onion and Chive Cream Cheese, some Doritos and some Cheese and Onion Smith Chips. Hey, nobody said I was Nigella.

On spying my selections, Mr.Woog kind of lost it a little bit.

“Great. Pick everything that I absolutely hate….”

I looked at the lady who was serving us and said “I am sorry that you had to see that…” before hissing at my beloved to feel free to go and add anything that he wanted. But he was in high sulk mood due to the fact that we were all a bit fed up with each others company due to the fact that we had sat through the Sydney Eisteddfod for 3 hours to watch 4 minutes of Jack dancing.

I paid and we left. On the way back to the car I delivered him a stern lecture about the fact there there was nothing to be benefitted from when you act like a toddler in public, and it got me thinking…

There are certain situations that leave us tense when we are together. One, obviously is shopping hastily, the other is trying to find a car park at eisteddfods. The other occurs when I wake up to a half eaten rat in our bed.

So is there any wonder that that day provided the perfect storm for shit hitting the fan, as all three had happened in the space of 12 hours.

When it comes to high sulks, what sets your partner off?

And no, along with 99.999% of the population, he doesn’t read my blog so I am pretty much able to get away with anything here.