This isn't about the ballgame. It is about the fight that preceded the ballgame.
I won't go into the details of the fight itself. Let me just say, it was about a band-aid. It was one of those fights where even as you are having it you are thinking, "Seriously? Are we actually arguing about this?"
The argument began as I watched our garage door slowly close. The fight came to its climax at the first stop sign leaving our quiet neighborhood. It was at this intersection that, in a huff, I decided I no longer cared to be in that car. So with wheels still rolling to a stop, I got out.
At the time it seemed like the right thing to do. Making a statement. Taking a stand. Looking like an idiot.
Yes, it only took one slam of the passenger-side door and three clomps of my sandals against the concrete to realize this was a bad idea. Suddenly I was brutally aware that our entire block seemed to have chosen this moment to enjoy the beautiful day. Families out on their front porches, children playing in their yards, non-arguing couples on their evening jogs. Why had I not noticed them before?
I could feel the heat of embarrassment spread to my cheeks. Luckily the neighbors couldn't see that. What they could see was my head pointing straight ahead in an effort to avoid their curious glances. My quick pace was meant to look purposeful and normal. Very, "Oh yes, I always get out of the car after a block and take a quick jaunt back to our home. Totally normal."
In my shadow I could see my skinny arms flailing, my curls bouncing angrily, and my hips swaying with attitude. It reminded me of a two-year old throwing a tantrum. Only I am 26.
Like the smart man he is, the engineer met me back at the house. We resolved the issue relatively quickly and proceeded to enjoy a baseball game.
I fear it may take longer for the neighbors to recover.