How do imagined wrongs escalate into gigantor fights? I seriously don’t understand how me getting upset about something minor turns into the war of the century.

Case study:

Tonight my boyfriend and I went to dinner at Ink. It’s one of our “places.” We thought it’d be nice to do some fun things at some of our favorite places before I leave on Sunday. And it was nice. One of the most fun dinners we’ve had together.

I even wore makeup and broke out my new Sex and the City-inspired clutch purse that I bought for my going away party tomorrow night.

To most men I would think those two items would signal some action later in the night, especially when found on a woman who has basically lived in her pajamas for the past three weeks.

I imagined something straight out of a romance movie. You know, us coming home and helping each other undress etc., etc.

But we all know life never happens like a romance movie. And I know that whenever I fall into this little fantasy trap that I end up being disappointed. I know this, and I do it anyway. Tonight was no different.

On the way home Tony says, “Oh, look, it’s 9:30. That means we’ll make it home in time for the show.”

I look at him incredulously and say, “What show?”

“Mad Men.”

“Ugh, I hate that show! There are way too many commercials.”

“Oh. Well, uh….”

“No, it’s fine we’ll watch it.”

I know, I know people. It was my mistake. If I didn’t want to watch the show I should have said so instead of using girlspeak. I’ve been speaking girl my whole life though and it’s hard to break out of it.

Even after this conversation I’m still playing the fantasy show in my head. I figure I have twenty minutes to try to seduce him and make him forget about the show.

So we get home and I go in our room to change. Tony comes and hangs out for a bit. But then all of a sudden he has his iPhone out and I know we’ve gotten to the point of no return.

Now I’m pissed that things haven’t gone how I wanted and he’s confused because he doesn’t know what’s gone wrong. He goes in the living room and flips on the TV. I sit in the living room for a bit, but the show isn’t on for another twenty minutes and he’s watching the Discovery Channel. No thank you.

I opt to go to bed instead. And now he knows he’s in super trouble. He turns off the TV and comes into our room to see what’s wrong.

At first I do the whole “nothing’s wrong” thing, which always pisses Tony off. So then he’s mad at me for being mad at him. He doesn’t understand what my problem is. I try to explain that “I put makeup on for crying out loud.” And he says he knows and I looked very nice and it goes on.

Somehow it turns into a roaring fight. Seriously, we’ve never gotten into such a bad fight and I don’t know how it escalated to that point.

As I was lying in bed I kept thinking about a conversation we had at dinner, in which I told Tony that I’ve never felt so happy before. I told him I can’t believe I’m leaving for France without running away from something. For the first time ever I’m really happy. I have great friends and a boy I love. I don’t hate my job (mostly because I don’t really have a job). And I live downtown with no bills and no car to worry about. Really, life doesn’t get much better. I even wrote a blog about it over at The Nervous Breakdown.

And now I’m lying in bed crying over an imagined slight by my boyfriend.

The irony doesn’t escape me.

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