Friday Night Fights

Ya think you know someone… and usually do.

I should’ve known trouble was brewing Friday night. J-Fed was in a less than stellar mood when he met me took pick up the kids. It was about 7 p.m. and the kids and I were gathered at the pizza place next to daughter’s dance studio. Even though J-Fed was taking them to his mother’s for the evening, I felt it would be in their best interest to eat beforehand.

Apparently, he was a bit dismayed when he arrived.

“I told you they were eating over my mom’s,” he snapped. I quickly pointed out to him that it was already after 7 and it would easily take another 30 to 45 minutes to get to his mom’s house. Unless he wanted to hear the baby scream all the way there out of hunger, he should’ve been grateful I had enough sense to feed them first. But no, instead he rides my ass about it.

As I worked to feed the kids and clean up the ensuing mess they were making, I turned my head for one brief moment, only to have our one-year-old reach over and pour my soda can all over the front of her. Strike 2.

“Well, you put it right in front of her. What do you expect?” he said with a snarky tone. I felt like reaching over, taking his face and smashing it into the piece of pizza six-year-old daughter was eating. Instead I threw my hands up.

“You know what. I’m thisclose to losing it J-Fed. I’ve been working and taking care of these kids all day by myself. Give me a break,” I snapped.

We then proceeded to get in a knock-down, drag-out fight in the parking lot. I was stupid. He was worthless. You know the drill. He took the kids and headed off into the night, leaving me to wonder what in God’s name I was thinking when I married him.