Relationships are full of compromise.
“Can you turn off the light?”
Roo rolled over. “Why do I have to turn off the light?”
I shut my book and placed it on the floor by the bed. “Because you won’t let me buy a Clapper.”
“Because we’re not 90 years old.”
I clapped twice. “See, if we had the Clapper right now, we’d be sleeping.”
“We’re not getting a Clapper. But I’ll turn off the light.”
Sometimes there’s bargaining.
“Big Dave wants to play Halo.”
“Does Big Dave know that Halo makes my eyes bleed?”
Roo laughed. “Big Dave only plays Halo and he just texted to see if I’d play.”
I pursed my lips. I did not want to spend the evening hearing the game announce phrases like, ‘Yoink,’ ‘Swat’ and ‘Infected,’ repeatedly. “I’ll play Minecraft with you if you don’t play Halo.”
Roo set down his controller. “You never want to play Minecraft.”
“I do. Right now.”
“So I won’t play Halo?”
“I’ve been meaning to get into an 8-bit world where you can, you know, mine things.”
“One hour. I don’t want you to play for sixty seconds and say you’re done.”
“You know me too well. Ten minutes.”
“An hour. I know you’ll like it.”
“Thirty minutes, and I get to keep all the cool stuff we find.”
“This coming from the girl who never wanted to play Minecraft.”
But more often than not there are unexpected moments of thoughtfulness.
“I spent my last hour at work talking to a PhD who thinks he’s God,” I said, walking in to our apartment.
“I’m making us a snack,” Roo called out from the kitchen.
“You’re what?” I kicked off my shoes, closed the door and walked over to the stove. “Oh, you made toast! Is there peanut butter?”
“It’s in the cupboard.” Roo said, handing me a slice of deeply browned soda bread. “Careful, it’s still hot.”
I grabbed the tub of peanut butter out of the cupboard and popped off its lid. “How did you know this is exactly what I wanted?”
“When you texted me, ‘I just pictured his face melting off,’ I figured this would be a better solution.”
“Of course. Less mess.”
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