our first fight

For the last 2 years Andy and I have been trying to have our first fight. It's hard to get in a fight when you adore each other to the point of sickening others. But I always thought that you can't really know a person until you have a fight. How they act during the fight and, maybe more important, after the fight, can show you a hell of a lot about someone's character. And when you're considering moving in with someone, this is pretty important shit.

Andy and I never had the opportunity to discover any of this before moving in together. Recently we were 'blessed' with our first conflict.

I could feel the tension building over a couple days. It started with the project of building 4 IKEA bookshelves together. It was mildly interesting (and annoying) to see how Andy thought he needed to take control of the project. When things needed to be opened with a razor knife, he had to do it. When screws needed tightening, Andy needed to do it. And nails needed to be hammered by the man too....hmmmm.

I guess I'm more of a feminist than I thought. He knows I'm capable of everything from laying a lineoleum floor to replacing a toilet to selling my own house, yet he needed to hammer the nails.

OK, we survived the IKEA test without any words or hard feelings. Two days later the movers finally delivered my furniture along with my 42 boxes. Needless to say after the long wait I was antsy to unpack and get things in their place. I felt like I'd been camping for 3 weeks.

Yes, I was a little stressed. Andy had whittled his stuff down to 'essentials', and so had I. But we still had stuff that needed a place in some cupboard, closet or shelf. I dealt with his collection of an estimated 250 t-shirts, CDs which filled an entire cabinet, and books and DVDs which filled 4 large bookcases. (Oh yeah, my books filled a shelf.) He dealt with my kitchen gadgets, china and pots and pans I couldn't part with, and my beloved dining room table with 8 chairs.

We managed to find space for stuff. I guess what sent me over the edge was how absorbed he was in listening to some crazy ass podcast for hours, totally oblivious to what I was doing. The one time I asked for help in my hours of unpacking he had said yeah, yeah, in a minute and then nothing... I even tossed my famous black skirt at him--the one I'd worn with nothing underneath that he'd thrown me over the side of the bed and licked my ass in--and he never even noticed.

That did it! I was pissed.

When Andy finally reentered the land of the living (ie, the podcast ended), I was sitting on the couch with steam shooting out of my ears. He said we should get ready soon to go out and meet his friend. Earlier I had really wanted to do this, but now I was in such a foul state that I knew it would be all bad. So I said no and explained why.

Well, Andy got defensive and said You know I would have helped you, all you had to do was ask me. I can't read your mind and I can't be accused of things I didn't even know. OK, you see where this is going...?

I took a few deep breaths and tried to remain calm while I explained what had transpired during his mesmerized state. I topped it off with the fact that he missed the black skirt attention-getting attempt. Just maybe that hit home for him.

Anyway, we forgave each other then, but we still went through levels of forgiving each other. I think in all it took Andy a couple days to work it out in his mind. I think he was a little shocked that we'd had a fight at all. I wasn't. It was a growing experience for us. I can't say I look forward to the next time, but hey, this is life and this life is exactly what I ordered.