Lover's Spat

I angrily scrubbed at the tile counter. The grout was coming clean, but I wasn’t; not until he got home anyway. I heard the garage door open. Adrenaline shot through my veins.

“Caroline!” he called.
“In here.” let him come to me

“What’s all this?” I had emptied the kitchen cabinets in my fury, wanting to make a mess, wanting to ignite his anger.

“I’m cleaning. Isn’t this what you want? A wife who gets on her KNEES and SCRUBS all the damn day long? Is it?”

“Caroline, uh, it looks great!”
“Oh no, you can’t weasel out of this one! I am tired of being told what I SHOULD be doing in my own home!” I threw the rubber gloves I’d been wearing onto the counter.
“You’re right, I should let you NOT clean this house however you please!” his face clouded.
“Nothing is good enough for you.” I spat at him. “Nothing is EVER.. GOOD.. ENOUGH!” I raged.
“What are you saying?” his eyes narrowed. “You are good enough, I MARRIED you! Doesn’t that mean anything?”
“Oh that’s just great!” I rolled my eyes.

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