I was irritated at my husband for two days over something silly.
So, I froze him out.
I barely responded when he talked to me, and I didn't message him through the day to check on him. During supper, I asked Logan to pass me the ketchup even though it was sitting right next to Shawn.
I snarled in his direction, totally ignored him, or when I had to respond, it was one word sentences while avoiding eye contact.
All of this while I waited for him to ask me what was wrong. Because that's all I really wanted.
I just wanted him to ask.
That's the thing, though. We've been doing this marriage for 18 years now and I think he's decided to just stop asking.
I'll be honest, I kind of get it. I really do.
Because even if he did ask me what was wrong, I wouldn't have answered him anyway. Not the first time, at least.
That's because he has to ask me twice.
It usually goes like this.
My shoulders sag and I sigh a little. "Nothing."
Then there's silence. It's a long silence where I might stare out the car window, or longingly into the horizon.
"Are you sure nothing's wrong?"
And that's when I unload everything I've been frustrated about since the last time we had this conversation.
It's usually all packed into one long sentence that starts with fifteen years ago when I was sick and he dropped me off at my mom's house and went to a movie, and then ends with two days ago when he insinuated to our friends that I am not the best help at remodeling our house.
And he's totally right — because I don't really know much about remodeling a house.
But this time, he didn't ask me what was wrong or acknowledge the silent treatment. He just talked to me like everything was normal.
I was really starting to sweat, too. I didn't want to be the one to cave, yet I couldn't exactly tell if he even knew it was happening.
It was driving me crazy.
Until Friday afternoon when I thought maybe his Facebook post was directed at me.
It was a picture of a man opening a book almost as big as he was. It was captioned, "The book 'Understanding Women' has now been released in paperback."
He didn't tag me. Or mention me. But I was pretty sure he was sending me a message.
So, I took that as an acknowledgement and responded to the post.
"They wouldn't publish this because no man would ever read it" I said.
We went back and forth a bit. He was looking for the chapter where men are allowed to think for themselves and I told him that there shouldn't be one.
And honestly, I couldn't tell if we were just playing around or having a fight on Facebook.
So I decided to reinstate the silent treatment, and left his last comment hanging.
I was laying on the silent treatment so thick you'd think I was enjoying it.
But the truth is, I wasn't.
When he left for work and I barely said goodbye, my heart was so heavy. I prayed God would protect him and me until we saw each other again.
I was terrifyingly aware that we aren't guaranteed even one more moment, yet risking everything just because I was so prideful.
But God straightened me out. He reminded me of what could happen.
What if I got that dreaded call? What if I suddenly realized that the day I refused to speak to him turned out to be the last day we had?
What a tragedy. I would never forgive myself. Pride is so dangerous.