Sophia and I had an argument today and I was going to blog about it — when it occurred to me that I never read anyone blogging about arguing with a lover/companion/spouse.
I read blogs about dating.
I read blogs about couples in love.
I read blogs about couples that hate each other after they split up.
But somewhere in between there, there must be a lot of arguments going on about something. Maybe domestic arguments are one of those topics you don’t talk about — sort of like not talking about money. Sex is fine to talk about. I think it is easier for a wife to blog about oral sex with her husband than to write about the the fight she had with him after he forgot her dress at the cleaners.
This was a big year for celebrity breakups — Nick and Jessica, Brad and Jennifer, etc. I know that because I was reading this in some US Magazine I swiped from my doctor’s office. Like couples in blogs, these couples never seem to fight either. The magazine writers always base their breakups on something concrete and logical. One celebrity wanted a baby, the other didn’t. One was always too busy filming some pirate epic half a world away. Someone had an affair. Someone was caught with a hooker. And so on.
But no one actually has a fight — or talks about it.
Today, Sophia and I had a argument. It wasn’t a particularly big one. Or an impressive one. We’ve had those in the past. Today, I’m mostly interested in my reluctance to write about it. Will other bloggers think less of me if I reveal that I actually have arguments with my separated wife?
Sophia and I have both been feeling cranky because of the flu. My mother, who just happens to be visiting from New York, has been taking care of us like we are kids again. (Note: Both Sophia and I are only children used to a lot of attention).
"Mom, can you bring me some tea?" called Sophia from the bedroom, where she has barricaded herself in her bed with a week’s worth of figure-skating programs on her TIVO. "Mom!"
I’m in my office, lying on my couch, my laptop on my lap, my tissues for my running nose at my side. It’s actually started to bug me that my mother is splitting her care between Sophia and me.
I crawled into the bedroom, mostly to show Sophia that I was sicker than she was.
"My mother is making some soup for me. Can she finish before you start asking her for some tea?"
"Tea only takes a minute."
"I’m sorry, but I’m the sick one now."
"What are you talking about? I’ve been sick three more days than you already."
"Exactly, your time is up. Now I’m the sick one."
"You don’t look very sick."
"Don’t you hear me coughing?"
"Well, you were able to blog before. How sick can you be?"
"What, are you insinuating that I’m faking being sick?"
"All I know is that I have 102 temperature and you don’t have any."
"I’m hot! I’m very hot. Those digital thermometers never work with me."
"You’re not just playing it up for you mother?"
"And why would you say that?"
"Because you don’t like her taking care of me."
"That’s ridiculous. I think YOU’RE the one who’s upset because she’s making me soup before she gives you tea?"
"She makes everything for you before me."
"She’s my mother. She’s supposed to. And it’s not true! If anything she spends more time on you than me!"
The phone rings. It is Sophia’s mother, who lives in Los Angeles, but doesn’t have a car and can’t really get here. They talk in Russian for a minute, then Sophia hangs up.
"Who was that?" I asked.
"My mother. She wanted to know how I’m doing."
"Did she ask about me?"
"No, she didn’t."
"Of course she did."
"I took that one course in Russian. I didn’t hear anything that sounded like "Neil is fine" or "Neil is sick.""
"No, but she did mention, "When is Neil going to get a new job already?"
"Oh, she did, did she…?!! Well, there’s certainly a big difference between your mother and my mother here."
"I’m not too sure. I think your mother wants you to find a job already too."
"I’m looking. I’m looking."
"Oh, yeah, like writing for that Blogebrity is a real JOB?!"
Then the argument really took off, until we both started coughing and sneezing, and went back into our separate rooms to go to sleep.