Sweet Justice

A few nights ago, Kyle and I had a fight. Not an honest to goodness someone-is-wrong-someone-is-right kind off fight. It was just a stupid little thing. I wanted him to turn off all the lights in the house and get us a snack from the kitchen. He thought I should do it. (Not to try to sway anyone to my side here, but WHO is six months pregnant with a back that screams everytime I so much as laugh? Yeah, I thought so)

Anyway, we went on and on over who was gonna shut the house down before bed. I finally told him I was just not going to do it. Well, if you've ever used this kind of definite shut down, you know it doesn't go over very well. He decided a compromise would be best.

I thought his compromise was stupid, but workable.

The compromise was he would go downstairs, get the snack, and turn off all lower level lights. My job was to turn off the lights upstairs. The reason I thought this was silly was that he was going to pass right by my switches twice: once on the way down, once on the way back. But sometimes, you just have to do rediculous things.

Off Kyle tramps downstairs. Unhappily, I push my gigantic bum out of bed. I turn off the bathroom and hallway light. Kyle turns everything off downstairs and heads back up to bed. Well all the lights in the house are now off and he can't see a thing. He trips over a laundry basket and ends up hurt on the floor.

I, of course, good wife that I am, hold in my giggles till I'm sure he's okay. I even wait till he's in bed and has had a few minutes to recover. I ask, "is it okay to laugh yet?"

"Not yet."

I manage to hold it in for about another 30 seconds.

Not quite an I-told-you-so moment. I thought it was even better. It was instead sweet justice. Karma.

Whatever you call it. It made my night.