Smurfsville

Today was a quiet day. Danny and I had argued this morning about his excessive xbox playing and the discussion ended in neither of us relenting, so we settled into playing the popular married game of "the first one that contacts the other must be wrong" AKA the silent treatment. I have a nearly perfect score at this game and although I love to talk, I love to win arguments even more. 

It was 2:00 in the afternoon before I heard a word from him (a new personal best time for him holding out) and I smiled at the FB message he left me indicating he would like to chat with me online. 

His message was all the reassurance I needed that my side of the argument was valid and once again all was back to normal in my sheltered little world.

That was until we began our conversation. "Hi" he typed, waiting to make sure I was really online. "Hi" I answered back (I didn't want to seem too eager so I left off the smiley icon) 

I could see that he was typing again by the conversation bubble and waited for what I was sure would be a sweet and remorseful apology about being sensitive to my feelings and ending with a promise of repentance. I was already planning a gracious acceptance and an expression of gratitude at his remorse. In my mind it was a total hallmark moment and my eyes moistened with premeditated emotion.

Finally his message posted "Hey will you go on the iPad and harvest my crops and then replant them on smurfsville" 

My fingers hovered frozen over the  "<" and "3" keys preparing to reward his sweet apology with a heart icon..."What did he just say?" I asked myself out loud in the solitude of my bedroom.

 I reread his entry 3 times before responding. "Did u just ask me to harvest and then replant your imaginary SMURF plants?" even though we were online chatting my typing dripped with disbelief and sarcasm. 

Where was my heart felt apology? My validation of rightness?  Was this some kind of new Jedi mind trick? And what the heck was Smurfsville?!

Moments later this was his response, "Yes, they have to be harvested or they will Wilt and die and I'm helping Makenna get to level 7" not even a please accompanied his request.

A storm cloud settled over my computer. Who did he think I was....a cyber farmer?  Did he believe I had nothing better to do all day then harvest imaginary plants?! Had the pressure of being wrong made him INSANE? 

I stomped down the stairs like a pouting 2 year old and snatched the iPad off it's dock grumbling under my breath like a psycho maniac. I rambled on about how my acceptance speech was going to include a few lines about appreciating his levelheadedness, that recognizing his fault and taking action quickly showed real maturity....maturity my ARS! ( I tend to only swear with an Irish accent....it is more effective that way). He was spending his time tending a garden for little blue cartoon characters for heaven sakes! 

I found the smurfsville icon/app on the iPad desktop (it was listed at the top of his importance list...even before his sweet wife's blog...grrrrr!) and harvested his precious little imaginary crops, then replanted like the obedient wife I was. I then reported back that his request was completed. Venom dripped from my now extended fangs forming a puddle on the keyboard.

I gave him one final chance to redeem himself before I started planning his funeral "Anything else my DARLING?" I spelled out with such force that I completely removed the letter G imprint from the key pad. 

"Yes, actually" he began...

I stopped sprinkling itching powder into his jock strap and waited for him to finish....what he would type next would either be his savings grace or the nail in his coffin....

"Try to be nice to me today" he wrote "You have been really grumpy lately" 

I think he might have typed something after that but if he did, I missed it. I was too busy gathering his xbox games and sprinting to the garage in search of the hammer

Don't feel too bad...he always has Smurfsville.