America's Past Time: Arguing

For Memorial Day, the Boy and I had numerous friends over to sit on the back porch and eat hamburgers and hot dogs. Beers were cracked open. Cigarettes were lit. Young children played safely away from the aforementioned beer and cigarettes but within sight and proximity. And all was well.

Well, for the most part.

What many had not realized was that the Boy and I had argued prior to the festivities. You see, dear reader, my family is very female-dominated, akin to the show Roseanne. His is very much the opposite. Men rein supreme. So, sometimes our wires get crossed on who is submissive and who is dominant in what situations.

For instance, when grilling.

It was assumed, despite my own personal experience with grilling, that he, as Male Supreme, would do the grilling while I worked on the cutting and preparing of raw meat, and the presentation of the food for public consumption.

Which, frankly, I found to be bullshit.

Okay, yes, I am the Self Proclaimed Worst Cook in the World. Yes, I have screwed up no-bake lemon squares and melted cheese. But I can flip a burger. I have done that much successfully. And truth be told, it was my friends we were entertaining. So I felt entitled to run the show.

Honestly? I was angriest that he wouldn't entertain the idea of me grilling.

If he had said, "I really want to do it, if you don't mind," I would have walked away quietly.

But instead, he said, "Cut the meat, already, so I can grill. It's a guy thing. I'll do the hard part."

Offended, I asked to do the grilling, and was again rebuffed. We began to argue.

This argument accumulated to using our body language in an attempt to intimidate each other out of the kitchen. Puffed up chests, standing on the toes of our feet, squaring the shoulders. When I didn't get my way (I was spoiled as a child), I threw a salt shaker at the wall and stormed off, refusing to speak until my friends arrived. Once they did, I put on a smiling face, called the Boy, "Honey," and was sweet as pie.

I suppose it wasn't right for me to put on a show, but I really disapprove of fighting in front of people. Either way, amazingly, Boy thought the argument was all over.

Wrong.

The moment the last guest left the house, I turned the Silent Treatment back on again.

And I suppose this is "female manipulation" or "mind games" or "childishness" or whatever you want to call it. I began to feel increasingly guilty as the night went on (completely guilty, but too stubborn to admit it or begin to speak to Boy). The fact is, I don't want to be the Bitch, the Nag, or the Psycho Girlfriend. Just as I was about to open my mouth to apologize, the Boyfriend turned to me.

"I'm sorry. I was insensative. I can't believe how bad that must have sounded. I'm just used to the men doing the grilling. Next time, we can do it together."

And, like the Bitch, the Nag, and the Psycho Girlfriend, I couldn't bring myself to admit I was wrong. I simply smiled, "Oh that's alright, baby. I guess we both over reacted. But I'm glad you know how offensive that was."

The fact is: we will never grill together. I'll want to do it my way, and he will want to do it his way. It will blow up into a bigger fight, because it always does. But hopefully, we'll find a new way to approach this particular problem. I'll take care of grilling on the Fourth of July and he'll take care of it on Labor Day.

No matter what we end up doing, I feel like we'll still find something to argue about. But hey: if nothing else, at least he keeps me on my toes.