D 1, Y 0

They say the first year of marriage is the hardest. I don't know why this is true for other people, but for us, it's because of all the very important fights we have.

The other night we were watching Olympic short track skating and we were at each other's throats by the end of this conversation.

Me: Speed skaters have huge thighs.
Y: This isn't speed skating.
Me: What is this?
Y: Short track skating.
Me: Are they not skating fast? It's speed skating!
Y: No. It's short track.
Me: Fine. Is this slow skating? Medium skating?
Y: It's just called short track! Speed skating is entirely different.
Announcer: Welcome back to Olympic Short track speed skating!
Y: FINE.

Or take this past weekend's blowout, when Y told me that the song I made up about Ike while we were washing dishes didn't make sense.

It takes two to make an Ike go right...

What about that doesn't make sense?! This led to a heated discussion about whether or not the original song even made sense. It was intense. And yes, we (okay, I) sing songs about our dog while we do chores. Deal with it. And just try not to get Puppyrazzi stuck in your head. Just try.

I could go on for days. There was the time Y laughed in my face when I told him I was trying out for American Idol the next time they came to Shreveport. Or the time I woke him up in the middle of the night because I was having an especially vivid dream that the fan above us was about to crash into my head and he whined for months about the 30 seconds of beauty sleep I had cost him.

Or what about the fact that Y constantly speaks ill of my childhood dog because he peed on Y ONCE.

Cinnamon was a saint, Y. A saint.


It's gotten so bad that I couldn't write this post without getting into a fight with Y. For some reason, he was trying to explain the "Christmas tree" method of filling out a scantron to a friend, and made this image:

I glanced over and, out of the kindness of my heart, commented {rightly so, don't you think?} that his picture looked nothing like a Christmas tree. We are no longer speaking.