Friday, August 8, 2008
About a year into married life Mr. D confided that he was once terrified of me.
Me: What? Why?
D: Well, you yelled at me that one time at the bar.
Me: What are you talking about?
D: That night I was drunk and I spit and accidentally hit the pool table. You reamed me out so bad that I didn't come in the bar for almost 6 months. I felt terrible--I didn't mean to hit the table and then you just came out of nowhere screaming at me and I was so ashamed that I walked back to B's house alone. For months B would want to go into the bar when I was in town and I'd tell him, 'Not if Green Girl is working! She hates me!'
Me: That was you?
D: Don't you remember?
Me: I remember some guy spitting and I remember yelling at him, but I don't remember that it was you.
D: It was--you terrified me.
Me: Huh. I had no idea.
(You knew that random side story was in last Friday's post for a reason, didn't you? Baseball players spit--who knew?)