erithacus' saga: the irresistible pull of the vortex of bickering
Mary and I walked in silence along the narrow pavement by the road. Cars and lorries raced past and filled the air with exhaust fumes while roadworks and people scuttling in all directions made walking side by side difficult. Contact was further impeded by the racket of a pneumatic drill, the din of which would have made hearing the pipes and drums of the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders difficult. A human voice was therefore clearly out of the question. Talking would have to wait until we were well out of the repair zone and able to stop walking in single file.
“I’m sorry about the other night,” Mary said.
“Why?” I asked.
“For acting like I did,” she explained.
“What’s wrong with acting like you did?” I enquired.
“Is there anything wrong with me saying sorry about how I acted?” she reacted.
“No, nothing at all,” I answered.
“Then there was something wrong about the way I acted?” she insisted.
“No there wasn’t,” I snapped, “I said there was nothing wrong about you saying sorry about the way you acted. I didn’t say there was anything wrong with the way you acted.”
“Yes you did,” she declared. “You asked me why I was sorry about the way I acted, as if it was perfectly acceptable to shout and scream at people. I just wanted to say sorry and now you’re telling me that I shouldn’t apologise.”
“I didn’t say you shouldn’t apologise,” I insisted, feeling snared. “I only meant that I don’t need you to say sorry. I had a good time the other night,”
Mary obviously didn’t like what I had said.
“What do you mean you had a good time with me the other night? If you enjoyed seeing me get completely filthy and walking about in the mud with a couple of plastic bags on my feet, you must be some kind of sadist.”
“I meant I liked being with you. I just liked being with you, whatever happened. Anyway, they were fertiliser bags,” I corrected her pedantically.
We both went quiet and entered a park. The wind was blowing slightly and the evening sun brought out the shades of green of the trees and the grass.
“I’m sorry about the other night,” Mary said.
“Why?” I asked.
“For acting like I did,” she explained.
“What’s wrong with acting like you did?” I enquired.
“Is there anything wrong with me saying sorry about how I acted?” she reacted.
“No, nothing at all,” I answered.
“Then there was something wrong about the way I acted?” she insisted.
“No there wasn’t,” I snapped, “I said there was nothing wrong about you saying sorry about the way you acted. I didn’t say there was anything wrong with the way you acted.”
“Yes you did,” she declared. “You asked me why I was sorry about the way I acted, as if it was perfectly acceptable to shout and scream at people. I just wanted to say sorry and now you’re telling me that I shouldn’t apologise.”
“I didn’t say you shouldn’t apologise,” I insisted, feeling snared. “I only meant that I don’t need you to say sorry. I had a good time the other night,”
Mary obviously didn’t like what I had said.
“What do you mean you had a good time with me the other night? If you enjoyed seeing me get completely filthy and walking about in the mud with a couple of plastic bags on my feet, you must be some kind of sadist.”
“I meant I liked being with you. I just liked being with you, whatever happened. Anyway, they were fertiliser bags,” I corrected her pedantically.
We both went quiet and entered a park. The wind was blowing slightly and the evening sun brought out the shades of green of the trees and the grass.
posted by Bob @ 1:27 pm
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