Civilised dispute. Or lack of it.

Me (gossipingly): So this friend of mine had a fight with her boy. No, not exactly a fight, more like a little bickering over something quite trivial. Her words.

A. (innocently): Yeah? What would they want to do that for?

Me (matter-of-factly): Well, you know, couples fight. Sometimes.

A. (motioning between us with his forefinger): But we don’t fight. Hmm… actually, you did try a couple of times.

Me (couldn’t help but laugh, not just at the fact, but also his choice of words):True. I’m the fiery one. Thank you, my quirky Piecean.

(I meant that.) 

And then I thought some more about it and he was so damn right. We haven’t had any fights, major or minor. Which maybe I’d just managed to jinx it? Touch wood! Although with me being me, there has been a lot of me sulking at him. The poor sausage. Somehow he calms me. Not always intentionally. But he does.

So maybe we do know how to communicate. Or more like, he does know how to wait out my silent sooks so we can actually talk like two adults. Or maybe, as much as I hate agreeing with horoscope, a water sign really does sooth a fire one.

Or maybe… I don’t know… possibly…  I’ve finally grown up!



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