One
evening a young couple went to a friend’s house for dinner. It was nothing out
of the ordinary – a relaxed meal, everyone seated at a nice table with
stoneware plates and mostly matching silverware. Good food, pleasant conversation,
all the usual ingredients. But on this particular evening, the host asked these
two guests, Aaron and Sabrina, if they wanted any peas; now, instead of the
usual response of “yes, thanks” or “no, thank you,” Aaron and Sabrina looked at
him and then at each other, and burst out laughing. As you might imagine, the
host was confused by this response and asked “what’s so funny?” Still laughing,
Aaron said “oh, nothing, sorry,” and through a chortle Sabrina managed to say
“you don’t have a water gun, do you? I love peas with a water gun.” Now
everyone was confused as they both laughed louder. “Ok,” their friend said,
grinning, “you have to tell us the story behind this joke. We want to be in on
it.” And so, wiping their eyes, Aaron and Sabrina began to tell the rest of the
people at the table the story behind it all. If there had been no peas and
water guns, there would not be a story worth telling. But there were, and there
is a story, which I will tell you now.
______________________________________________________________________
One
week before, Aaron and Sabrina, together for four months, had just sat down to
have dinner after a long day of work and classes at the university. Not having
much time, Sabrina had cooked chicken and peas, and they both sat quietly at
the table, Aaron pushing the peas around his plate and Sabrina watching.
“You’re pretty quiet tonight,” she said, eating a bite of chicken. “Everything
go ok at work?” “Oh, it’s fine; just been a really long week.” “Dinner ok?” she
said. “Yeah, it’s fine.” She looked at him for a moment. “I didn’t use butter
on the peas this time, I tossed them in olive oil. Saw it on a cooking show.
Could you tell a difference?” Aaron looked at the forkful of peas he was
holding. “Oh, you did? That’s nice.” He glanced across the room and noticed two
brightly colored water guns lying on the coffee table. “What are those for?”
“Oh, those are James’ and Matt’s toys,” Sabrina said. “I got out of class early
and picked them up for Liz. We went to the park for a bit and they played, then
we came back here to wait for her. They forgot their guns. I’ll drain out the
water after dinner and give them to Liz tomorrow.” “Was nice of you to pick up
the munchkins for your sister” Aaron, said, still pushing the peas around his
plate. “Thanks, they exhausted me. Think they could run circles around a
squirrel.” He smiled. “Speaking of water,” Aaron said, laying his fork down,
“Did you have a chance to wash my shirt today? I want to get out of this stiff
button up. Oh, and I washed and dried the towels last night while you were at
your class, so they’re taken care of.” “Thanks," she replied; "I saw
them in the cabinet. Yeah, I washed your shirt; it’s in the machine still. I
put it in with a basket of other stuff.” He stood up and went to the washing
machine across the room of their small one bedroom apartment and lifted the lid
to pull out his favorite shirt and put it in the dryer; it was a light colored
t-shirt he had gotten in Mexico
last year. He looked into the machine and said “I don’t think it’s in here, all
this stuff is pink and red. Did you leave it in the basket in the closet?”
“No,” she replied, turning in her seat to face him. “I put it in with that
load. But I washed it on cold just like you said.” He quickly pulled some of
the pieces out of the washer and a horrified look came over his face. “Sabrina,
what did you do to my shirt?!” He held up the once light shirt, which was now a
lovely dark shade of pink. “I don’t understand,” Sabrina said as she stood up
and walked over. “I washed it on cold so it wouldn’t bleed.” He pulled the rest
of the wet clothes from the machine and tossed them in an empty basket. A nice
dark pink blouse sat in the middle of once light clothes. “Well, this is just
GREAT, he said, holding his t-shirt in his hand. You don’t ever wash dark pink
colors with lights! I loved this shirt.” “Well, don’t get mad at me, I didn’t
do it on purpose. Besides, it still looks nice. Maybe you can still wear it.
Pink will look good on you.” She half-grinned as she said it. “It’s not funny, Sabrina. This is the fourth shirt
you’ve ruined in the last two months!” “Well I’m sorry my clothing skills
aren’t PERFECT like your mother’s laundry magic; why don’t you take it to her?”
“Don’t rag on my mother just because she’s detailed” he quipped. Her smile disappeared. She jerked up the
basket of clothes and answered heatedly, “You know what, Aaron? I am so sick of trying to be perfect.
Perfect with the laundry, perfect with the housecleaning, perfect with your family, with my family, at work, in class, perfect hair, perfect nails,
perfect EVERYTHING. I am SICK OF TRYING TO BE PERFECT!!!!!” And with that, she
took the basket of clothes and dumped it on his head. “What the – what is your
problem?” Aaron said as he tossed the basket off; “nobody said you have to be
perfect, and you are definitely NOT, so no worries in THAT department. And you
know, I do a lot around here. I made dinner last night” - before he could
finish she interrupted - “well that’s great, thank you, except that you got up for
your little midnight snack and left the rest of it out on the counter so I didn’t have any
lunch today.” “Oh, now it’s all my fault?" he snapped back. "Well, you’re a lousy housekeeper.” She balled up her fists at her sides.“Well, I hate the way you leave your gym socks on the floor! It’s disgusting.
And why the hell do you leave the top off the toothpaste? It’s so juvenile.”
"Well, you snore!” he fired back. “I do not!” “Yes, you do.” The tension was mounting as Aaron
stormed over to the table and pointed at his plate. “You know what?” “WHAT” Sabrina
retorted, following him. “I hate peas. I hate them! My mom always made me
eat them growing up and she would never listen when I told her I didn’t like
them. I HATE them! Everybody is always on my case, telling me what to do. I
can’t even eat the vegetables that I like! Rules rules rules. Always going by
the rules. Well, here’s to the rules. And with that he grabbed a fistful of
peas and squeezed them until they oozed out of the sides of his clenched hand. Sabrina
stared at him. “That's disgusting - and why didn’t you ever tell me you didn’t like peas?! The
only reason I even cook them is because I thought you liked them. I mean, who
doesn’t like damn peas?” She glared at him. “You - you know what this is REALLY
about? This is about the fact that I can’t cook as good as your mother.” He
looked at her. “What? Well, since we're on the subject - I won’t ever be able to fix things like your dad does,
OK?? Accept it. I am just not great at changing the oil or fixing a headlight.
I can fix software problems and play all kinds of music, but don’t ask me to
work on the car, OK? I am not superman.” “No, you’re definitely NOT” Sabrina
retorted. They stared at each other for a moment. The atmosphere was so tense
it felt like high noon outside an old western coral with tumbleweed blowing
across the street. He looked at her a moment. “Well, this chicken is DRY.”
“WHAT???” Sabrina snapped. “THIS.CHICKEN.IS.DRY.” He pointed with his non-goo
hand to his plate. Sabrina’s face was red now. “Oh, the chicken is dry? It’s
DRY? Well, let’s do something about that!” And with that, she walked briskly to
the coffee table and picked up one of the water guns and promptly aimed at the
plate in front of Aaron and started shooting the chicken with a “zap zap zap”
as water and peas and chicken were sent projectile. “What the hell are you
doing?!” Aaron shouted as bits of wet chicken and peas flew about everywhere.
“On second thought,” Sabrina said, “YOU look a little dry.” “Sabrina, don’t
even think about” -- and with that, Sabrina aimed and hit him square in the
chest with the cold spray. He ran over and grabbed the other water gun and with
an “Oh, it’s on now,” proclamation, started shooting at her. They both ran
around the living room of that tiny apartment shooting water at each other like
juveniles in a schoolyard. They ran into the bedroom and ended up standing on
the bed shooting at each other point blank until the water ran out.
Silence
fell as they both stood on the bed, holding the empty water guns and looking at
each other, chins dripping and hair drenched. Lowering their guns, a long
silent pause filled the room. “Uh,” Aaron said, somewhat embarrassed, “what
just happened?” “Um,” Sabrina answered, “I’m not really sure.” More silence.
“Your hair is soaked,” he said, and, reaching to pull away a strand stuck to
her cheek, he forgot about the smashed vegetables still on that hand, and the
wet peas smeared on her face. “I, uh, I’m sorry – there are uh, there are peas
on your face, Sabrina.” They were both quiet again. A small piece of wet
chicken had stuck to Aaron’s forehead from the table incident, and it was at
this very moment that it fell off, in between them, onto the bed. A grin slowly
spread across Sabrina’s face, and then Aaron’s. They both started laughing,
first low, then louder, and then laughed and laughed until their sides hurt and
they had to sit. Tossing the water gun to the side she said “what do you say we
just cook some Ramen noodles tonight?” “Yeah, that sounds perfect” Aaron said,
face red and eyes watering from laughing so hard. They kissed and he hugged her
tight. She promised never to wash a pink shirt with whites again and he said
he’d try to remember to put the food up at night when he had a snack. And they
decided to frame that pink shirt and hang it up on the wall in their bedroom,
just for kicks.
And
that, my readers, is the story of the peas and the water guns.
And
that is that.