Chocolate Division

Last night I got really mad at Beloved Spouse. Really mad. Sulky, stompy, shouty mad.

Why?

Because he went to the store and didn't buy me a candy bar.

Grounds for divorce in 15 states.

 Seriously. He was out of paper for the printer, so he dashed out to Target to pick up a ream. I asked him to get me a candy bar. He said OK. (Note: You know it's true love when you don't have to say which kind of candy bar you want. He/she just knows. In my case, he knows that I'll scarf just about anything except a Charleston Chew.)

When BelSpouse returned, we had the following exchange:

BelSp: I got the paper.
Me: Did you get a candy bar?
BelSp: Yep, I got myself a Twix.
Me: What did you get for me?
(Long pause)
BelSp: Oh. Sorry.

That's right: I asked him to buy me a candy bar, and he bought one for himself. When he saw my face, he offered me his Twix.

I really wanted a candy bar.

Being a mature and forgiving sort, I flat-out refused his mangy scabrous secondhand Twix. I happen to like Twix bars. But I didn't want his candy bar; I wanted a candy bar that he had bought for me because I asked him to and he loved me enough not to completely forget about it two minutes after I asked. I wanted that candy bar.

And when I didn't get it, I lost it.

I don't know why.



The answer is somewhere in the red zone, I think.



I spent the rest of the evening in a funk. Not the Parlia-funkadelic-ment kind, either. Just the bitchy, pouty kind. Because of a stupid candy bar.

Of course, it wasn't because of a candy bar. It was what the candy bar represented: Having a thoughtful, considerate partner who takes care of me and gives me what I need.

Almost impossible to say with a straight face, right?

OK, so it wasn't that, either. It was because sometimes BelSpouse acts like a selfish jerk and sometimes I act like a emotionally unwound head case. And every once in a while, we act like both at the same time.



To put it in terms a dog would understand, for no apparent reason.



Anyway, I didn't really need a candy bar. And if BelSpouse hadn't been going to the store already, I wouldn't have wanted a candy bar. It was a spur-of-the-moment whim, and I lost nothing because he forgot to buy it for me. And he did clean the kitchen yesterday and clear the table after dinner. So I think we're even.

Except now I'm thinking about the last time I brought a candy bar home. I had bought it for myself, but he took it. He took my 3 Musketeers bar! And just...just ate it! Didn't even offer me a bite! Godammit, he owes me restitution. He owed me a freaking candy bar, and when I gave him the chance to atone, he FORGOT. Really? Did he really forget? Or is he sending me a message? Oh, I know his type - won't come right out and admit it, but he's got a huge problem with me and he's using a candy bar as a surrogate for his inability to express what's festering under the surface. Festering, bubbling, about to boil over, the seething resentment, the years of unsatisfied yearnings, the sense of loss and bitterness...



Time to go to my happy place.

Mmmm. You know what I really want? Some ice cream. I wonder if BelSpouse would be a dear and get me some.

There's more! The story continues with "Chocolate Postscript" and "Chocolate Epilogue." It's a trilogy, like Revenge of the Nerds, except that the last part isn't a made-for-TV movie with a different cast except Booger.