I know I'm lucky he cooks. That's not the issue here.

Our marriage is a good one; we laugh, we share secrets, we stay up late painting each others' nails. Dave promised me I wouldn't tell you that (oops!) -- I'm always doing that, ha, putting my perfectly manicured foot into my mouth.

But I've mentioned before that if he asks me what I want to eat for dinner one more time, I'll chop up his body and put it in the wall, and then calmly call to order pizza. (That's a lie for three reasons -- one, I only commit murder never, so that's out; two, I only order pizza online because I hate talking to them on the phone; and three, we have plaster walls. Messy to work with.)

The other night, we came to a point in the conversation where our fighting over what we were going to eat for dinner escalated to almost-death. I don't KNOW what I want, DEAR, and you standing there with the freezer door open doesn't HELP. And the fact that he gets an hour to eat leaves us with quick! Hurry! Make up your mind! options. This is why we eat macaroni so often.

"I'll just make something myself," I said after 10 minutes of "No ... No ... What do YOU feel like eating?"

"No, come on. What do you want?"

"I DON'T KNOW."

"Chicken?"

"No time."

"Tuna pasta?"

"I don't LIKE tuna pasta."

"Well I don't know ..."

"I SAID I'd feed myself!"

Growl, divorce lawyers on the phone, cereal bowls hitting the countertop with see-I-mean-it force ... Oh, yes. Even I felt uncomfortable with all the loud noises.

Luckily, Dave has the good foresight to see we can't live like that. So sometimes, like tonight, he grabs something he knows I hate (pork in this case), and says "I think I might just eat this ... is that OK?" Asking nicely so as not to tick off the crazy lady! She's batty! Crazy lady!

And the suddenly, without fighting, I get choices. So many. I get waffles. For dinner. And no one had to die.

I'm serious. A Monday can be made or broken on our 10-minute supper conversations. This is why God invented second shift for Dave, Crock Pots and toaster waffles. Because I love Dave ... Just not while I'm in the kitchen, too much.

But see, then we eat and the fight's gone and my belly's full of waffles and life's good again. Funny that.