It’s been really hot here and I’m drained from leftover Chinese food and wrangling a sweaty child. So we were laying around in the heat wishing we could peel our skin off when Sally finished whatever she was drinking and tossed the cup — literally threw it — on the floor.
“Excuse me?” I said.
“You get that,” Sally replied.
“No, you get it. We don’t throw things.”
“What about balls?”
It’s a good thing we can’t peel skin off because I’d probably remove hers. She’s getting good at arguing. It’s annoying.
And then it hit me. We’ve had this conversation before. It was the material for my first blog post, almost exactly two months ago, and it was hot that day too. (“Hot” doesn’t happen much in these parts and nobody has air conditioning, so when it does get warm, whole towns get whiny. It’s memorable.) Anyway, it occurred to me that this is what Sally and I do when it’s sweltering. We argue over ridiculous things and both refuse to back down. Then I get angry and she decides she needs physical contact. And as everyone over age 2 1/2 knows, putting two boiling, shalacked bodies together just makes all parties crankier.
We have many nicer traits and habits. But when it’s hot, this is us. In a way, it’s comforting: she’s old enough and has a strong enough personality that our relationship has patterns, quirks. We have things that “we” do. It’s nice, even if some of those things make us want to strangle each other.
However, it also means I’m in deep you-know-what when she’s a teenager. And we’re never, ever moving to a warmer climate.