The fight had been quick and intense. A flash fire. Burning hotly and brightly and then POOF. Done. It was, as almost all of them are, about something inconsequential but at the time it had seemed, to her at least, to represent everything that was wrong with their relationship. She said he doesn't listen and, as she explained in angry tones exactly how he doesn't listen, she felt like he wasn't listening. Not listening to her explanation about how he never listens. And when she tried to explain how ironic it was that here he was not listening to her explain how upset she was that he wasn't listening he looked confused and seemed not even to be listening to that.
Dinner was nearly ready, all she needed to do was sear the shrimp she had just peeled and de-veined in the waiting skillet already glistening with Olive Oil but she was so upset she stormed upstairs and closed the door to her bedroom quietly behind her.
Although she had looked forward to an evening spent with him stuffing themselves with shrimp tacos, she was done. And she knew, she just knew that after her dramatic exit he would ignore the food sitting in the kitchen. Neither cooking it to completion nor putting it away. Oh how badly she wanted to just let it sit there rotting overnight for him to find in the morning when he stumbled tiredly downstairs to make coffee. Then he would know how upset she truly was for she had allowed the dinner - perfectly nice food - to sit out all night long wasting everything.
She listened as he removed his contacts and brushed his teeth and wondered if he had the same inner monologue as she. Was this a battle of wills? Of course it was. She just knew that he knew she would slink down into the kitchen after he went to bed to put away the food she had abandoned and that made her burn with anger.
And yet the thought of the uncooked shrimp awaiting the skillet just sitting there on the kitchen counter as evening gave way to dawn gnawed at her even more. But still. She knew that come morning he would descend the staircase into the kitchen and in the cold, gray dawn would triumphantly note that in the end it was she who had capitulated and cleaned up the uneaten dinner, carefully placing the food in tupperware now in the fridge. He would think putting away the food was a sign of weakness - or worse - an acknowledgment of being wrong. Or was that all in her insane head? Did he think nothing of the food she had taken more than an hour to prepare and had abruptly left sitting out? Were his evening ablutions as carefree as any other night of the week? Oh, how angry that made her. Angrier even then the thing they were arguing about earlier. What was that thing? Oh! Right! He never listens! But that wasn't what started the original argument? What had started the original argument?
Dammit! She couldn't remember now. But it must've been important. Otherwise why would she be sitting here all angry?
Oh, how she stewed as the minutes ticked by, heart pounding angrily, battling herself. She would show him. She would just go right to sleep and let the food spoil. But wait. Shrimp is expensive. And that dinner could serve as leftovers for days if she tupperwared it into the refrigerator.
In the end her frugality won out over her rage and she slunk downstairs to tupperware the dinner she spent hours making...and found that he had carefully cleaned up, put away all the uneaten food and started the dishwasher.