"I think being a woman is like being Irish." — Iris Murdoch

After all the emotional tension this weekend, Emma's best friend was here after school.  I just got back from driving her home.  Nelson's first language is not English, although he speaks very well.

Now, Nelson told me several times that the girl's mother would be home "after eight" and I was supposed to drive her home.  Fine.

So, after I (literally) ran home, cooked dinner (amid comments from Nelson that I stank!), showered, and began cleaning the kitchen, the hour of eight arrived.

Suddenly Nelson gets all tense and starts pressuring me to take the girl home.  "Okay," I said, "I'll just call to make sure her mother's home."

"She's home!" he said.  "She said she'd be home at eight."

"Wait," I said, "Up to now you said she'd be home after eight.  That's different.  I just want to be sure she's there."

"Look," he said tensely.  "You don't need to call.  She said we could bring her home any time after eight."

I pointed out that he'd changed his story yet again, and he started getting angry.  I warned the girls that it was time for Emma's friend to go, and I started gathering my stuff: my shoes, my keys...  I took a look at how much time was left in the movie they were watching.  I figured if it was five minutes or so, I'd let them finish, but 25 minutes were left, so I said "Let's go."

Nelson just freaked on me.  I took the girl home.  Now he's on the phone.  When he's done he'll have framed the story in his mind so that it's clearly all my fault.  It's so tiresome.  We have a great relationship, but have this tendency to fight fiercely about things that don't even matter -- things that we actually AGREE on.  And he always seems to think that the problem is my irrationality or desire to embarrass him.

Jeez.  Luckily, neither of us tends to hold a grudge.  Afterward he told me that he'd translated the thing wrong.