The doorbell rings unexpectedly with a morning courier delivery. It’s been a cruddy week – head colds for some of the family and borderline migraines for me. I’m wearing torn pyjama pants that have a bold funky print and an oversize T-shirt, and I haven’t psyched myself up enough to brush my hair yet. Doc is wearing decent sweat pants and a matching sweat jacket.

“Can you get that, please?” I ask.

“Can you, please?” he tosses back.

Tension crackles between us and our irritability levels jack up. It’s rare that we’re ever at odds with each other.

“I don’t really wanna go to the door looking like this,” I protest and gesture at the mess I am.

“Neither do I,” he counters gruffly.

The delivery guy is waiting. He’ll leave soon, and I need the items today. No time to discuss and find a compromise.

With unconcealed exasperation, I march to the door, open it and peek out from behind, and take the parcel with a forced friendly “Thank you.” On the way back past my husband’s office, my inner five-year old escapes.

“I don’t see why you couldn’t have – you look fine,” I grumble immaturely.

“Well maybe I just care about my appearance more than you do!” he snaps back.

……!

…………?!?

Ouch.

I’m utterly speechless.

Two hours later. It’s a busy work day for both of us. I’ve buried myself in stubborn website code and bullshit correspondence. I haven’t cried, but it came kinda close. This totally isn’t us.

Most of the heavy negativity has burned off with time and the day’s activity. Only the faint last threads are left. But loose threads build up and get in the way if ignored.

I pause in the doorway to his office. He’s staring into space but notices my movement and looks up.

“What you said this morning,” I start, “about caring about your appearance more than I did? Did you mean you care more than I do about my own, or more than I do about yours?”

“About mine,” he answers quickly.

“Not the way I took it,” I tell him softly.

“Weird,” he says with the beginning of a smile. “I was just replaying it in my head in the last ten minutes and realized you might have heard different than I meant.”

“What a coincidence, it just occurred to me in the last five that I might’ve got it wrong.”