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Don't Go To Bed Angry

I'm not sure if it's proper to splay this here, but it'd be hypocritical on my part if I pretended that as far as my marriage is concerned, everything's all sweet all the time. Because, to be honest, it's not. The truth is, my wife and I fight.

A lot of marriage couples are shy to admit it, 98% of married people quarrel. A quote I once heard: “a marriage where no fighting happens could be one that is dying or dead from undernourished of emotions”. If the married couple cares, they probably quarrel. My friend theorized that a “good” marriage is between a deaf husband and a blind wife. Clearly, my wife has a blurry vision and I have a normal hearing ability.

Now please comprehend that me and my wife do not fight all the time. Oftentimes, we do not agree seriously on many occasions but we fight once in a blue moon. In general, my wife and I have a beautiful fulfilling marriage and our affection for each other increases every single day. It is just that sharing a house with my wife sometimes is the reason for some trouble, and five years is a lengthy time living with another person. Sometime somehow, the calmness you both cherish get tangled a little, and then you quarrel like cat and mouse.

Broken Vows

When I acquired my missus, I made these vows: (1) Surrender the TV remote to the missus often, (2) Don't just watch the dishes miraculously wash themselves clean on a given day, (3) Always be gentle to the miss us. On top of the promise to give my wife as much space to grow as a wife and mother and as a professional plus the standard, all-encompassing commitment to cherish and to love her “till death do us part,” I resolved to keep these fragile vows.

Then came that one portentous night not long ago. I had been in the living room surfing the channels and holding on too long to the TV remote, long after the missus had taken care of the mealtime dishes and gone into our bedroom that doubles as study. She said she needed to work on a research paper.

Sometime later, she came out, apprehension etched all over her face.

“Honey,” she reported, “I think there's a problem with my computer files.”

Absorbed with the boob tube, I pretended not to hear her.

“Honey…” she called again.

“Can't find or retrieve your files?” I finally shot back.

“Just come and take a look,” she requested.

I obliged.

Her laptop said “disk error”

Oh, well. How could things like this pop up just when the TV plot was thickening and taking an interesting twist?

“You have backup?” I asked.

“No.”

“You have hard copy?

“No.” “You mean you didn't do a printout the last time you updated your files?”

“Sorry, I forgot.”

“I told you so,” I chided her, adding that I didn't think I could be of any help. “Where I work, we simply dispose of defective flash disks.” Then I began to deliver a lecture that stung her feelings and ego, and which she didn't take sitting down.

She was probably sorry at what she had or had not done. Surely she was mad at her husband's inability to bail her out of trouble, or at my failure to reassure her that some solution did lie somewhere, or at my unwillingness to give her some kind of support.

From there all hell broke loose. If you were there, you'd probably have seen love fly out of our conjugal window. Words spewing out of our mouths were superheated and heavy. Our relationship almost turned from marital to martial. Things got so ugly I came very close to breaking my wife's favorite chinaware and an important wedding vow.

Don't Go to Bed Angry

My wife and I have a vow to never go to bed angry with one another. We have tried to live out the biblical injunction: “Let not the sun set upon your wrath.”

During quarrels past, one of us would eventually apologize – Even if we didn't think we were at fault. Often before, when I was mad, she'd keep her cool; when she was mad, I'd try my best to keep cool.

But this time, it was no ordinary squabble. The issue had branched out to other issues. This time I was mad - and so was my wife!

Grrrr! fl:!.*#<@!

Through the time before we finally went to bed, there were some agonizing pockets of silence. Many times, my mind struggled at the idea of initiating a truce, making an apology. But I was boiling mad. No way, I decided.

My wife didn't apologize either. And the fight dragged on beyond bedtime. That night, we slept on opposite sides of the bed - back to angry back.

When I awoke the following day, my wife was already up, staring at her laptop and massaging the defective flash disk.

“Good morning,” I said.

She said nothing.

“Give me the flash disk,” I tried to sound apologetic. “I'll find a way to remedy the situation.”

Using her mouth, she pointed at the flash disk she had just placed on the table.

I picked it up, looked for help somewhere.

A little later, I came back with all her files retrieved and intact.

Still, she said nothing. I left her alone.

Next day, she had a surprise for me.

“Bought it for you.”

“What for?” I growled.

“Peace offering.”

A smile broke from our lips. And we kissed and hugged.

Today we still have disagreements, but we faithfully try to live out St. Paul's counsel to patch them up before bedtime. I think it's working. Me and my wife are learning to fix our marital spats early and quick so they don't blow up into Armageddon proportions.

We're a little wiser – and definitely in love and committed with each other more than ever.

Society | Relationships | Self-Help


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