Is That All?

“Are you people actually arguing over a doughnut?” my thirteen year old daughter inquired from the backseat.

“Yes, we are,” I replied.  “And don’t call your parents ‘you people’.”

Hubby and I don’t argue very often, and when we do it’s generally over some petty miscommunication.  Like the time he asked me to hold the front door open while he carried stuff outside. Obviously, I stood waiting for him on the front porch.

He, on the other hand, waited for me at the back door and then had the nerve to say, “I told you to come to the front.”  It took a good thirty minutes of arguing before I realized that he truly believed the front door is the one you use most often regardless of where it’s actually located.

After seventeen years you’d think I’d have developed some sort of radar that allows me to detect when this nonsense is about to happen, but it still whammies me up side the head and leaves me totally flabbergasted.

Take last night’s doughnut issue for example.  We spent the day at Indiana Beach and on the way home I suggested we stop at the Krispy Kreme Doughnut shop.  Hubby pulled into the drive-thru and ordered an original glazed and a chocolate glazed.

I asked him to get a box of doughnut holes for the kids and a cup of coffee for our oldest daughter.  He turned and inquired, “Is that all?”  I nodded my head in the affirmative and we pulled to the window.

Upon receiving our order, I reached my hand into the bag and pulled out the original glazed.  Just as I was putting it into my mouth, hubby looked at me with fierce hostility shooting from his eyes and spewed out the words, “Are you going to eat MY doughnut?”

In shock, I quickly removed the still unbitten treat from my mouth and said, “Oh, I’m sorry.  Is the chocolate one mine?”

“No. They’re both mine.  You said you didn’t want anything,” he replied.

“Why would I say that?  It was my idea to come here in the first place!”

As he drove around the building he continued insisting that I told him I didn’t want anything, and I continued insisting I never said such a thing.

He pulled up to the front door and handed me a dollar.

“Are you seriously going to make me get my exhausted, pregnant body out of this car and go in to buy a doughnut?”  I asked in disbelief.

“No,” he replied, “You can buy me another doughnut because you broke the glaze on mine.”

“I am so not buying you a doughnut,” I bristled.  “If anyone is getting a new doughnut, it’s me.  I refuse to eat YOUR doughnut!”

I stormed out of the van, stomped across the sidewalk, and pulled my shoulder out of socket trying to wrench open a locked door.  Glancing at my watch I saw it was 9:02.  They had just closed.

As I made my way back to the vehicle I saw hubby quickly grab the doughnut bag and clutch it to his chest.  I got in and threatened, “You better pray that drive-thru is still open.”

He pulled back into the line, still insisting that I didn’t want anything. Finally, I said as nicely as I could, “Look, honey, I thought you had already ordered for me.  Whatever you said, I know you never asked if I wanted anything.”

Daughter supplied from the backseat, “He said, ‘Is that all?’”

“That’s it!” I cried.  “You said, ‘is that all?’ And since I thought you had already ordered for me I thought that was all.”

“I never order for you,” he replied.  “You’re too picky.”

“This isn’t about whether or not I’m picky.  This is about whether or not you neglected to order something you obviously knew I wanted.  You’d have to be crazy to think a pregnant woman would suggest Krispy Kreme doughnuts and then decide not to get one once you’ve pulled into the drive-thru.”

“You said you didn’t want anything,” he still insisted under his breath as we pulled to the window for a second time.

Stubborn as a mule, he is.  Anyone can see that asking “is that all” is not the same as asking, “do you want anything.”

The drive-thru guy gave hubby a sympathetic look and refused to take our dollar. “No charge,” he said. “It’s on the house.”

In the meantime, I began scarfing down my doughnut before hubby remembered the broken glaze and decided that the new one belonged to him.

Back on the interstate we had a good laugh over the absurdity of the situation.  We enjoy a good argument now and then; gets the adrenalin flowing and satisfies our personality driven need to debate. And when we finally arrived home, we entered through the front door, which is conveniently located on the back of the house.

(originally published 7/2006)