What Is The STUPIDEST Fight You've Had With Your Significant Other?

Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share
161

Ha - I know what she was thinking here, I can tell you exactly.

If you stop her from going, you don’t care about her happiness, are selfish and controlling and don’t trust her.

If you let her go, you don’t care about her enough to care that somebody else fucks her. She is just a piece of furniture to you and could easily be replaced by mail order Julie of the latex variety.

The other day my somebody sent my wife flowers at work - I didn’t do the jealous thing and demand to know who they were from or why. She got all upset that I wasn’t behaving like a jealous controlling freak. :smack: I really don’t understand women sometimes:confused:

162

My husband and I got into a fight that ended with him examining why we were even together when I bought him beach sandals and denim shorts for Father’s Day. He needed the beach sandals for, you know, the beach and all he had were some tan molded plastic drug store sandals he stole from his father. He needed the shorts because all the shorts he had (and, I might add, still has) were about 8 inches above his knees - a look that went out when he was in high school - and were, in fact, shorter than his boxer shorts! These new shorts hit about two to three inches above the knee and hid the boxers effectively.

This was about seven years ago. It came up recently and almost got ugly again.

163

And a years paid mandatory maternity leave complete with in home nanny and nurse care.

164

Same here. Well, my mixed up image is *slightly *better than yours, as I was thinking of James Avery.

165

The correct answer is: NO.

166

This, and the black potential banana bread bananas, along with sequential threads are why I can no longer go on SDMB at work.

For some reason my co workers find the spectacle of me giggling like a loon, alternated with projectile snorking, diconcerting. Especially, but not limited to times between 2 and 5 am.

Now I have to join NRichards timewaster threads, because I if I can’t SDMB, can’t youtube, Facebook, IMDB, play Conquer Club or other games, I don’t know what Im going to do at work during my midnight shifts. Possibly start waking my patients up, or get creative with the bandaging supplies.

(Or, you know, get back to working on my degree which I don’t want, and it won’t get me anywhere I want to go, and will not help me do my job any better than 10 years experience already has but… if Quadop insists on making me laugh…)

(Note, bolding and italics completely on purpose. This seems like a perfect thread for passive agressive bolding and italics. It sounds like a fight I would have with my first boyfriend. Im searching memory files for one I can write up… most have too much innuendo and history to be consisely reported)

167

We don’t really fight when we’re at home, only when we’re on road trips. And then it’s not over something consequential like what we’re going to eat or where we’re going to stay. Oh no. We fight over whether they’re called “traffic circles” or “rotaries.” Or on another occasion whether it’s better (not sure what our criteria was for “better”) to call roads “highways” or “routes” as in “My husband drives to work on highway/route 7.”

And at the time we each get into our side of the argument and it really really seems like it matters. Until 2 days later when we’ve cooled off enough to realize who the hell cares?

168

Heres a good one.

My ex husband and I… (no comment) were discussing Canadian Content Regulations and MAPL which, on the whole, could be a good discussion, lots of debating if the regulations are worth while, or if they fodder a hothouse effect for Canadian artists, etc etc.

But he just kept saying “Its Stupid”, no debate. and I am getting more and more pissed, because you can’t just tell me “its stupid” without you know, develping a thesis and defending it with a series of facts to support your statement.

Finally I say “Why is it Stupid?”

Answer. “Because that’s how come 54-40 became popular and they suck.”

I just opened my mouth, prepared to go at it again either about CanCon, or 54-40, or the bands he likes that have also been supported by CanCon, but then shut it. Instead I said, "Oh you’re right the govenment put out these regulations and a whole enforcement system in in the early 1970’s to prop up a band that wouldn’t even be formed until the early 1980s. "

And he said “Exactly. Which is why it sucks. and is a waste.” Then he went to play at full volume some local indy thrash metal band that got a lot of airplay on college radio. :smack:

Fun times. Can’t say I miss them.

169

My ex made a phony suicide attempt. Took 4 pills, where the therapeutic dose ran up to approximately 24 pills of the size she had. Phony, because when you’re trying to kill yourself, you don’t take 4 pills, you take every pill you have.

Got angry because I hadn’t counted her pills to know how many she’d taken.

My response was to ask how angry she’d have been if I was counting her pills on a daily basis. She admitted that she’d be very upset because that would show that I didn’t trust her. I then asked if I should do that going forward, since she was angry I hadn’t been doing it. She said no, she didn’t want me to do it.

But she was still mad. For weeks.

170

Actually we didn’t argue over the baseball player. It was understood early on that he was an exception to her monogamy, and that there was no way she’d be leaving me for him–just having meaningless sex with him.

If she had had the opportunity to have sex with, say, Portia de Rossi, that would have been something I’d have been genuinely jealous about.

171

I didn’t have anything to post to this thread. Until last night.

We were idly channel surfing and found an episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation. It was just starting, and it was the one about Sarek. Which is close enough to a Spock episode to make me happy. I got distracted through most of it, but he patiently summarized the plot. More than once because I truly did have a lot of things distracting me. Just a typical night in the Pepper Household.

Until he asked the fateful question.

“So, why didn’t you like this episode?”

I guess I should mention that I don’t like ST:TNG at all but it is my husband’s favorite show of all time. Seriously, it is just not allowed to say one bad word about that show because he loves it more than anything. So, of course, I mock it every chance I get. Still, I’m not cruel about it, and I generally don’t bring it up unless he does. So, back to the fight.

“Why don’t you like this episode?”

“Same reason I don’t like any of the episodes. Troi and Riker.”

“They were barely in this one. What did they do that was so awful.”

“What? Picard notices Sarek crying. When he mentions it to the bimbo, she nods and says Yes, I felt something. Vague and undefined…. Well thanks a hell of a lot! Picard knew there was something vague and undefined there. He saw the man crying. God, how does that not drive you batshit?”

“You hate her so much, but you haven’t watched the show.”

“You’ve made me watch the show. I’ve seen many episodes.”

“But not all the episodes.”

“I need to see every minute of the series to form an opinion?”

“Yes.”

“That’s insane.”

“And you hate Riker. Why? You’ve never even given him a chance.”

“That’s not true. There’s one episode where Jonathan Frakes doesn’t make me puke. The one where there’s actually a replica of Riker.”

“You’ve never seen that episode.”

“What the fuck? I’ve watched it with you!”

“Then tell me what happens!”

This goes on and on and on. It will flare up every single time TNG gets mentioned, and has been flaring up for the past decade. He doesn’t care what other shows I dislike, but I’m clearly wrong and stupid if I don’t love every second of TNG.

172

There was one particular girlfriend – the only one I ever lived with – who was the queen of stupid arguments.

One night we watched a movie. Total chick flick. Marvin’s Room, I believe. At the end of it she went into a sobbing fit and said “You never really loved me!” and stormed out.

On another occasion, I wanted to work on some music, but she had the TV blaring and I couldn’t concentrate, so I packed up my stuff and moved to a different, more soundproof room. About ten minutes later she came in to see me, tears streaming down her face, saying that my moving to a different room was me abandoning her, I never really loved her, etc. Yeesh.

To be fair, she was very sick at the time and her medications were probably messing with her head.

173

My wife comes from a family of 10 children. No multiples, all the same married parents. Yes, they’re Italian & Catholic. No, they didn’t have cable. Dad was the primary and almost sole breadwinner in the house. He brought home a teacher’s salary and sold ice cream on the beach in the summer to keep the bills paid. Hand-me-downs were the norm, and gifts of any sort were always small, cheap, and thoughtful. My family wasn’t rollin’ in dough, but my folks always tried to lavish my brother and I with the latest & greatest gifts.

There’s a happy medium between these two gift-giving extremes that my wife and I strive for; but for the most part, I’m materialistic and possessive (of possessions, not people!), and she’s giving and compassionate (except for pizza, ravioli, and toilet cleaning. She always wants those split evenly.)

We have a not-so-close friend that we see occassionally. The friend has a son that’s about 1 year older than our daughter. The friend was expecting a second child - a girl - in December '08. Unbeknownst to us at the time, my wife was also expecting (or would be soon… the exact timing of this is fuzzy). They had lent & given us a bunch of baby stuff… bottles, car seat, etc. It wasn’t a money/need thing. It was just a desire not to waste.

In anticipation of their second child, we packed up all the stuff they gave/lent us and returned it. She also started packing up some girl stuff that our daughter had outgrown. She did this without my knowledge, figuring I wouldn’t object. Mostly clothes. This did not please me.

If I had bought the clothes, I wouldn’t have cared. But it was my gift-happy mother that got them all. I didn’t want to give those away to a not-so-close friend. Give them to family that needs them… even if that means waiting a bit. Save some of the more sentimental stuff. Give the rest to charity. But none of that is really important.

What’s important is that my family gave our daughter those gifts. And since my daughter isn’t capable of making the decision of what to do with those gifts, it should be my decision. It was my family that spent the money, time, and effort (some were handmade!) on these clothes. Her parents got my daughter a kids bedtime Bible (with new and improved brainwashing!) and a dollar store doll. Give that shit away without asking me. Don’t give away my stuff!!!

So here’s where the fight begins. She, now 4 months preggo, asks me to carry the 4 giant Rubbermaid containers out to the car. I ask what’s in them. She answers. I go apeshit about not being consulted.

“How could you give away this stuff??? This is MY DAUGHTER’S FIRST ONESIE!!!”

<no response>

“My cousin had one of her nursing home patients crochet these pink booties!”

<no response>

etc., etc., etc.

And then she dropped the bomb. I asked how we’d get them back if she were having a girl. This not-so-close friend lives several hours away. Yeah, um… her plan was to not get them back. I yell. I scream. Eventually she appeases me and says she’ll get it all back.

I know the tone. It was the “I’m not really getting any of these hand-me-downs back even if we are having another little girl, but if it’ll get you to stop ranting…” So I asked for an inventory list. I want it all accounted for, and anything that doesn’t get returned, I’m making my wife get a job to earn the money to replace.

There’s no inventory list. So what’s man-child like me to do with 10 minutes to go before we leave? I break out the digital camera. I photograph every bootie. Every sock. Every vomit-stained bib. Every shit-stained shirt. Everything. EVERYTHING.

To counter my petty bullshit, my wife tells me that I have to re-fold & re-pack everything… oh, and there’s stuff that “goes together.” But it’s not obvious to my fashion-challenged brain what parts are part of a larger set.

So I tell her, “Here, you know what I think of folding this shit? You know what I think of matching this stuff?” And then, like a 4th grade bully that just stole the 1st graders’ kickball, I started punting the clothes out of the room. Down the stairs. Into the bathroom. It was like a pink baby clothes piñata had just been struck by Gigantor.

Normally a mild, even-tempered woman, my wife started screaming at me. I can’t even remember what she said as I lofted the layettes behind the piano. In the end I did what all husbands who recognize the cost of court-ordered child support would do. I apologized, folded, matched, and re-packed the clothes. It was a fun drive there.

174

You MUST count them out as you do this. Just loudly announce “ONE!!!” when you use that first trash bag. Do this all the way to “SEVENTYFUCKINGEIGHT” and you’ll be golden.

175

In a fake Transylvanian accent, while going “ah, ah, ah!” between each number.

176

The stories about trying to control what the other person orders are insane. If you think the person should expand their experience you offer them a taste of what you ordered.

However, since I feel that way, I’m not sure why I’ve had repeated squabbles over what my wife orders at restaurants…

At restaurants we don’t know well, I prefer that we do not both order the same thing. If we both have the same thing and it’s lousy we’ve pretty much thrown our money away, but if just one of the meals is good, it could still be a nice evening. And if both meals are great, it’s fun to share a few bites.

I’ll ask what she’s thinking about getting and tell her what I’m thinking about getting.
Says she, “That sounds good, maybe I’ll have it too.”
“Are you going to order it? Because if you are, I’ll pick out something else.”
“That’s silly, why can’t we order the same thing?”

We’ve had this conversation seven or eight times. Not a fight, but we’re both thinking, “What is wrong with this person’s mind?”

177

She’s on my list.

Ex and I used to argue about my list all the time. She didn’t approve of anyone on it.

178

Ivylad and I have had our share of stupid fights and not-so stupid fights. But my BIL and SIL got into a fight over the board game Scruples.

Apparently, the question was, if you’re a cook in a restaurant and drop a steak on the floor, do you pick it up and put it on a plate or cook another steak? My SIL stated that she would put it back on the grill for a bit, then plate it. My BIL was horrified…I think he ended up storming out, and they had to agree never to play Scruples again.

179

Um. Yeah. Never play Scruples. I wouldn’t be surprised if you flipped over the box and they’d sold ad space to a local divorce attorney (although my bout with Scruples was family-related, not SO-related).

We don’t fight a lot. I think our worst silly fight if you can call it that was one time he asked me what was for dinner while I was cutting up chicken and I said “Chicken” with the burning wrath of a thousand suns in my voice. It was like the Chicken of Death. I was mainly mad at myself for not being more organized and being farther along in making dinner, and my blood sugar was probably low. I wasn’t even particularly mad at him, making it even more stupid.

180

We made the mistake very early in our marriage to take the same algebra class at the university. He wanted me to tutor him. I’m an impatient teacher and he has a mental block against math (including the insane idea that he can’t do it unless he understands the full theory of why each process works. I don’t care. if it works, it works, who cares why?) Also, I was pregnant. I really feel for the poor people who were our neighbors that year.

Then there was the continuing fight over it’s and its. He thought its was it is. I knew I was right and I was not going to let that one go. One day he just up and agreed with me like there never had been an argument and couldn’t remember us ever arguing that one because of course he’s always known how to spell it’s. He got no kisses that day.