I know it’s not Thursday, but here’s a throwback for you about our very first fight. Enjoy. It’s about as stupid as you would expect from two 18 year olds.
So we were on a trip in Florida with Tim’s family the summer after graduation, about 3 months before we got engaged. After a few days at Disney World, the plan was to pile into a minivan and drive from Orlando to Georgia where Tim’s older brother would be getting married. Disney World was (of course) magical. We held hands, laughed, and were so carefree. I look back on it as one of our favorite trips because aside from our honeymoon, it was the only trip we had been on together before we had kids. We’ve been on other trips without our kids since then, but as a parent- you still carry the responsibility even if your kids aren’t with you.
After our trip at DW, Tim’s parents, his brother James, his sister and her husband and their baby who was about 8 months old, and Tim and I….all got into a van and drove off to Georgia. Part of the way there, we stopped off somewhere close to Daytona Beach and got out to stretch and play in the surf for a minute. Still carefree and having fun, Tim and I were chasing each other around in the sand. Tim’s mom snapped this photo of us in that moment. It’s one of my favorite memories. Then we went to change into swimsuits and actually go swimming.
Now, I’m not a swim-at-the-beach person. I don’t like when I can’t see my feet, or when my feet don’t touch the ground. So I’m a go-in-up-to-my-knees person. But, since Tim was there…I was a swim-at-the-beach person. I ran into the surf to join him, and no sooner had I gone in farther than I even have before…a wave knocked me over, and down I went. As I went to stand up, I realized I had a huge problem. My swimsuit bottoms were FULL of sand. I froze, unsure of what to do. If I stood up, they would fall down. If I sat there, I would surely die a salt watery death. At that point, I preferred death. But I somehow managed to get up and waddle back into the water where the water was to my waist and trying to be as stealth as possible, I tried to get as much as the sand out of my swimsuit bottoms as I could. I then declared that I was getting out, and began walking to the bathrooms. Suddenly my crotch felt like it was on fire. The sand was chaffing, and the salt was stinging. I remember getting to the bathroom thinking my problems would be solved, only to find thin, dry toilet paper…and nothing else. It was a beach bathroom, I don’t know what I was expecting. Miserable, I changed back into my clothes and went back out to the beach.
Needless to say, my Fire Crotch and I did not enjoy the rest of the time at the beach, and generally my face didn’t disguise my irritation and embarrassment. As we trekked back to the van, Tim asked me what was wrong. I pasted a smile to my face and said, “Nothing!” He gave me a look and we got back into the van and kept driving. But Tim wouldn’t leave it alone. He kept asking me, “What’s wrong??” and I kept telling him, “I don’t want to talk about it, I’m fine.” At that point, I was getting really mad at him that he wouldn’t leave me alone about it. This was so unlike him, and I really was not ready to talk about my sandy nether regions, it was too embarrassing! Why couldn’t he just leave it alone?? Did I have to tell him EVERYTHING?? And he was upset that if it “wasn’t that big a deal” then why wouldn’t I just TELL him?? We went round and round in awkward whisper-hissing, for a couple hours until we stopped for lunch. I think the whole group in the van breathed a collective sigh of relief when Tim’s dad pulled into a Subway parking lot and let everybody out. We elected to “be inside in a minute” and finish up the fight. We sat in silence awhile and then he started asking me again. Eventually, I thought, “This isn’t worth it. I’ll just tell him.” So I did. Needless to say, we both felt a little stupid. And we missed lunch. Tim was relieved that it wasn’t about him, and I was just glad my boyfriend wasn’t disgusted by a little sand. It was silly, but hey. That was our first fight.