Real stories about dating and relationships in New York City. Truth is more interesting than fiction.

Speaking of Spats

As I mentioned earlier today, I have a bad habit of not telling guys when I’m pissed off.  It’s something I’ve been working on, but I still I have a long ways to go.

Anyway, I saw this video and laughed my ass off.  But then I thought, wow, I can’t actually recall ever having a “spat” with a guy.  Knock down drag outs when I was already ready to end it all, sure.  Lots of those.  But spats, no.

And there is a reason for this.  I grew up in a family of screamers.  BIG SCREAMERS.  My parents (before my mom passed away) were more than once described as the real-life Costanzas (by friends of mine, after meeting them the first time).  I can still remember one day, after a couple of friends helped me bring some stuff to my parent’s house for storage when I was moving from one apartment to another (with less closet and storage space).  My friends were completely freaked out by the sheer amount of yelling that took place in the house.  In my family, people yelled as the norm.  Almost for sport.  Driving away from the house that day, I could feel how upset my friends were.  Neither of them had ever experienced that level of rage and hostility on display before.

And I pledged, when I moved out (at 18) that I would never live that way.  That I wouldn’t scream and yell and curse and slam things around on a daily basis.  That I wouldn’t take my every whim and emotion out on the people closest to me.

And sometimes this, this fear and hatred of conflict forces me to hold things in when I should just let them out.  Have a little spat.  And then brush it off.

Like I said, I know it’s an issue. And I’m working on it.

And now for a good laugh.  The SpatSolver – from our friends at .


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2 to “Speaking of Spats”


  1. Devon aka Dru says:

    LOL! As soon as I saw it made a fabulous hair accessory, I was sold :D

  2. Simone Grant says:

    Isn’t it awesome? I want one just for the fabulousness.