Lockdown fight



Married life in lockdown, intelligent or not, is a lot like married life on vacation without the change of scenery.
Yesterday A. and I were having a fight that reminded me a lot of a holiday fight – meaning a fight resulting from spending too much time together, irritation over small things leading to agitation; with no one else around one can blame only the Other.
The situation: A. was going to visit her parents with the kids. This was good news for me, the stay behind father, and I needn't feel guilty – PM Rutte's 1.5 economy made visits of more than 3 people illegal.
As always, the departure took place in a rush, with A. shouting orders to me, and me shouting orders to the kids. Somewhere in this chain of command something went wrong, because when the family minus one just had left in the car, and I had returned to the marvelously empty home wondering what to do with my freedom, the phone rang.
'You asshole, you didn't fasten their seatbelts. You didn't check if they had taken a pee. They had no shoes on. You didn't give them anything to do or eat during the trip.' Etcetera, etcetera.
As her assault showed no signs of waning, I put down the phone on the table and resumed my thinking about what to do with my freedom.
At last, she was done.
I couldn't resist the temptation (I have a hard time resisting temptations) to text something nasty to her. Although she was probably behind the wheel, she didn't hesitate to get back to me with her own nastiness.
This was good. We were getting better. Wisely, we left it at that.