Last March, I wrote a post that resulted in one of my favorite comment sections ever. Relationships are so funny, aren’t they? Like, you could be absolutely committed to stepping in front of a train to save a person’s life, but if they hang the toilet paper the wrong way you would murder them with your bare hands. I guess when you spend year after year with a person, you have to find some ways to keep things fresh.
Recently, my husband and I had an argument that made me think of the earlier post and the resulting comments. It was an argument that nearly led to fisticuffs, it was so intense. Neither of us wanted to cede even an INCH of ground. I wanted to scream at him, and surely he felt the same way. We finally stopped bickering about it but only because we ran out of energy; we never formally agreed that I was right all along. (I am right.)
The subject matter of this fierce battle? Marshmallow size.
That’s right, folks. My lovely, generous husband agreed to go do all the Thanksgiving shopping for me and I nearly strangled him over his refusal to accept that the marshmallow size I requested was the correct and only marshmallow size.
Do you want some context? Carla’s favorite Thanksgiving foods are a) cranberry sauce and b) sweet potatoes with marshmallows (or, more accurately, marshmallows with sweet potato essence). So I put marshmallows on the grocery list. Because my husband likes to know Specific Details about the things he’s buying, I added the note Giant size to our grocery list.
“We get regular size marshmallows,” he said.
No, we don’t. We always get the jumbo size marshmallows. The kind you use for making s’mores.
“No, the little ones.”
Round and round we went on this, Internet. I found a photo of last year’s sweet potatoes, with the jumbo size marshmallows on top.
“Maybe we used them last year, but usually we use the regular size.”
For awhile, I thought maybe we were talking about the exact same thing and just using different terminology for it. Like maybe he thinks the jumbo size Kraft Jet Puffed are “regular size” and we were arguing about nothing. But no. He meant the small size. The kind you put in hot cocoa.
Carla helpfully googled this photo so we could determine that we were, in fact, discussing marshmallows of different size. (This was only after a deeply infuriating aside, where I said that “tiny” marshmallows are the kind that come in packets of powdered cocoa and he disagreed, and I nearly detonated.)
I tried to remind my husband that I have been making these same sweet potatoes pretty much every year since 2010. Not sufficient evidence. I dug up a photo of that first Thanksgiving, in 2010, with the jumbo marshmallows. Not sufficient evidence.
Is this the most RIDICULOUS argument you have ever heard of?! It didn’t feel like it, in the moment. It felt like this man was a stranger. How could he think I was a person who would put small marshmallows on top of my sweet potatoes?! Who has the TIME for such detailed work?! Not me! Did he not SEE me? Did he not KNOW me?!
Finally, I threw up my hands and told him that fine, if he insisted on getting the small marshmallows, he could place them all in concentric circles on the mashed sweet potatoes. (Even though marshmallow placement is firmly Carla’s job.) And he went grocery shopping. When he came home, he handed me a bag of the correct size marshmallows, even though he made it very clear that he was surrendering to me, not that he thought I was right.
One of the most maddening arguments we’ve ever had.
Although it doesn’t compare in any way to the all-out brawl* we had over which everyday glasses to register for when we got engaged.
Okay, here is where you tell me the most ridiculous arguments you’ve been in. With a sibling, a spouse, a friend. I just want to hear the silly things that push your buttons.
* Not an actual brawl.
I am kinda sorta attempting to complete NaBloPoMo, with the full expectation that life will make it impossible any day now. If you want to follow along, or join the fun, check out San’s blog here.
