Why Taking Seperate Cars Is Always A Good Idea

"So there's that."

"Just to clarify, you're telling me ... " I confirmed the worst. I remained silent, not sure what to say at that point.

He waited. I sighed.

We got out of the car.

"This is the part where you're supposed to yell and hit me."

"I'm passive aggressive!" I joked. "I yell and hit, I just don't yell and hit you, I yell and hit about you."

"I know," he responded. "I'm giving you the opportunity to yell and hit with me."

I sighed again and walked through the door he was holding open for me. We made niceties with the regulars, got coffee, finished the to do list and got back in the car.

"You're quiet."

I looked at him, keeping my eyes opened wide. "Uh huh. So?"

"Well, it means you're upset."

I looked away. Looking at the sun had the unusually opposite effect of stopping the tears. I raised my voice a little.

"Of course I'm upset."

He was satisfied with that. He wanted me to hit him, I could tell. He wanted me to throw my fists into him. Even though it wouldn't hurt, he would feel better, knowing he deserved it to hurt.

But I use words. Words I think over for hours until I craft stinging biting sentences. If there's one thing I've learned it's that my looks and my punches don't hurt but my words do.

"You can blog about me if you want and I promise I won't read it for a couple days."

Silly boy, what's the point then?