‘Ever feel like you’re living in a sitcom?
This actually happened last Sunday at our house.
At just after midday.
I write at home on Sunday morning.
A 2 year old Izobel distracted me for a couple of hours which is fine of course.
But it did affect my schedule.
So I was – inside – slightly tense as I went downstairs to make some toast.
And couldn’t find the butter.
Where’s the butter?
It’s in the fridge.
(I was was conscious of my entirely undeserved, curt, monosyllabic tone with Lisa.
But I didn’t deviate.)
I can’t find it!
Lisa (slightly higher pitch but still relaxed):
It’s in the fridge door!
Me (holding up butter):
Is it this one?
Lisa (Still slightly screechy but in control):
Yes! That’s the butter!
Lisa again, this time lower:
Now; I didn’t hear this last word clearly…
I thought she’d said, in her then lowered voice… something else.
I paused for a moment.
But said nothing.
And after I had buttered my toast I wandered back upstairs.
Smiling and reflecting on how something so trivial could have escalated, just because Lisa mentioned the brand name of the butter.
At least – I think that’s what she said.