less than spectacular

every sunday morning, after she made breakfast and he read the paper, they fought. they called each other names that they never dreamed of calling another human being because they were very cruel names and not the kind of names people typically call each other unless they're really mad at the other person. it didn't matter that they thought about calling each other these names throughout the week, they always waited until sunday to actually say them out loud and in reference to one another.

it was usually just before noon when the fights would start. by this time, everyone was fed. everyone was full and feeling sluggish. it's possible that it was because they were so full and sluggish that they fought. nothing incites agitation in another human being like being disturbed before their food has fully digested, except maybe for when they are woken up in their sleep--but that wasn't the case with these two because they both slept well into the morning on sundays.

one of the names he never called her when they fought on sundays was a "cunt," except for one time when he meant to say "bitch" but couldn't think of it in time. she was mad about it for a week because, to her, "cunt" was the nastiest thing you could call a woman.

often: she called him an "asshole," but never a "dick" because she had reservations about saying that word, in general. saying it made her feel less wholesome. it made her feel trashy when she said "dick."

other words they liked to use on sundays when they fought included: "fuck" "shit" "goddam" and "dumbass." they also liked to accuse each other of being crazy and say "ok" sarcastically when the other person accused them of being crazy.

as heated as they appeard during their fights, they always made up by the end of the day and they always said things like:

"i'm sorry. i didn't mean what i said. i was just frustrated."

and:

"i love you, ok? please forgive me?"

but it was hard to know if they really meant it when they said those things, too.

every time they fought, which was every sunday, their son and daughter sneaked upstairs so they could hear more distinctly what they were shouting at each other. it was easier when their bedroom door was closed because then they could walk up to the door and press their ears against it but they had to be very deliberate and quiet when they approached the door because the wood beneath the carpet in the hallway just outside their door was very old or not very good and creaked loudly. so they tiptoed up to the door and occasionally she would hear them and yell at them to go back downstairs. he might have heard them, too, but he never said anything if he did.