Thursday, June 04, 2009

Arguments and Omelets

Arguing makes me tense. I don't do it. I don't want my parents to argue. I don't want the neighbors to argue. I don't want the people in other cubes to argue. I don't want my wife and kids to argue. I hate it. It makes me want to hide somewhere, but every time I hide it causes a big argument, which makes me even more tense.

And I hate tension. It makes me argumentative.

So I run into Costco to pick up pizza and potatoes. Don't ask. Walking in to Costco is also bad for me. Our best television is like 10 years old and I think it's only about a 20" screen. Costco has cell phones with bigger screens. To get to the potatoes, I have to pass through massive walls of big-screen, High-Definition digital magnificence....at really good prices, temptation for which I must resist. I have talk walk directly to the potatoes.

Tonight as I was just nearing the darkness at the end of Great Wall of LCD, I was greeted by the cold embrace of tension. It is strange, but I felt the tension before I actually heard the voices. There they were by a stack of computer boxes, a lovely couple in an obvious argument over whether or not to buy the computer.

I hate yelling. It makes me tense. I guess it reminds me of arguing. I have demanded few rules in my house. My number one rule is No Yelling. No Shouting for ANY reason. If you need to talk to someone upstairs, don't yell up the stairs. No yelling down the stairs. Walk up the stairs, find me, and speak in a soft, slow, but pleasant voice. If you are upstairs and you are thirsty. Come down and get your own water. Or call me. We've got 7 phones. Call, IM, fax, fly down a paper airplane. Just please don't yell. Why do I feel like I sound a little too much like David Sedaris?

The seven-or-so-year-old little boy, who was apparently their son, kinda meandered around unaffected. I hate it when the little snots are tougher than me. Here I am, the thirty-years-old, just passing by, and I'm worried about their loud, angry voices. We're in a Costco, for Pete's sake. What must everyone in the store think about their yelling? Embarrassment and shame gnawed away at what was left of the wonder created by the televisions. I wonder what wonder tastes like.

I rushed right past the replica Texas Ranger jerseys without even the slightest brush to see if the cotton was nice. My glance didn't stray to either side through the DVD isles. I did have to call my wife to ask if she wanted 20 pounds of russet or 15 pounds of golden. That might mean Tortilla de Patatas this weekend! And I know she and I would agree on the computer, the television, the Texas Ranger jerseys and the DVDs.

No.

It's a new word we learned a couple months ago. I'll tell you about that later.

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