Now, Why Did I Say That?

The New Prompt is:
Search your past for a difficult break up between you and an old flame. Now write a story about what you would have done differently if, in the middle of the argument, you were to say, "You USED to be so beautiful when you were angry... now you are just...(Comic interjection is required here)"

And a Contest Note... No make up hugs or beyond is required in this story.
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Now, Why Did I Say That?

“You USED to be so beautiful when you were angry! Now you are just…”

“What, what am I just… Spit it out why don’t ya.” she yelled back in a challenging tone.

I was so furious. It is impossible to think when someone is in your face daring you to finish a statement that you know you are going to seriously regret. But here she was –just asking for me to unload on her with both barrels, and I certainly was in an accommodating mood.

“You USED to be so beautiful when you were angry, now you are just like a pot of 2 day old gumbo.”

The words had barely passed my lips, and I was already sorry that I had said them.

She just stood there staring at me for a moment with a befuddled look on her face. Then I thought I saw a hint of a smile on her face when she dared challenge me again.

“Would you like to explain what you meant by what you just said?”

I really did not want to have this argument. She knew perfectly well what I was talking about. We hadn’t been married long when I got called out on a job shortly after getting home from work on Wednesday night. I had not noticed the pot of steaming hot seafood gumbo on the stove before I got back in my truck and headed toward the company’s heliport to catch the helicopter that would fly me out to the offshore rig.

Seems the rig’s Dynamic Positioning System was not acting right and would not hold the coordinates against the wind and currents. This created a really dangerous situation that could break the drill pipe. This could cause a blow out. I worked almost 36 hours straight through, changing boards and reprogramming the system while hoping the whole time that I could fix it before all hell broke lose.

I got home around 3:30 a.m. Friday morning, exhausted and starving. I was delighted to see a big old pot of gumbo on the stove just waiting for me. I put 3 large cooking spoons of rice in what my wife called a serving bowl and ladled the seafood gumbo over the top of the rice. Then put it in the microwave and proceeded to fix me a big glass of ice tea while I waited on the gumbo to get hot in the microwave. I was so hungry I wolfed down that gumbo without really tasting it. After I finished two big bowls and many glasses of ice tea, I crawled into bed next to my loving wife. I do remember thinking that this marriage thing wasn’t as bad as all the guys told me it would be as I lost consciousness.

About 6 o’clock I woke up feeling very sick. My head was pounding, my stomach was churning, and I felt hot all over. Within moments I was hugging the porcelain throne. My loving wife must have heard all the groaning and moaning. She got a washcloth, soaked it in cold water, and the whole while she was holding my head and wiping my face, she just kept saying repeatedly how sorry she was. Little did I know that while she was in the kitchen making coffee that she had just realized that I had eaten most of the gumbo that she had cooked for me 2 nights before?

After about an hour of thinking I was dying while sprawled out on the cold ceramic tile bathroom floor, I overheard my wife on the phone talking to our family doctor.

“Yes, Dr. Levine, I do think that it is probably food poisoning.” There would be a pause and she continued to just say “Yes Doctor, I can do that.” After a couple of more “Yes, Sir’s.” I heard her hang up the telephone. She returned to my side still apologizing.

My head was reeling, and I could barely focus long enough to figure out what was going on. I drifted in an out of consciousness like that the rest of the day. I missed a whole week of work, but my wife has never been more attentive than that day.

“Well, are you going to explain just what you mean by what you said?" Her accusing tone jerks me back to reality.

“No Dear, I am not going to explain it to you, and I shouldn’t have to either. Your not an idiot.” I really was trying to compliment her, but I guess I was still so angry that it just didn’t sound like it.

“You're never going to forgive me, are you? Your the idiot.” And with that she stormed out of the house. I figured she was going to her mother's again.

I walked into the living room, sat on the sofa, and stared at the television. I was thinking that in the future it just might be smarter to just say “Yes Dear”, regardless of what she is going on about, or until I can at least decipher what she is talking about when I first walk in the door after work. I don’t know how long I sat there trying to remember what had started this whole mess.

I guess I am going to have to tell Steve that I really do want to read his copy of Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus that he keeps on the bookshelf at work with all his other technical manuals.