It’s Sunday morning and Nick just got over being in a snit.
Why was he in a snit?
On Sunday morning I did what all good people do … I cleaned the stove. And oven.
You know when you get a new car and you don’t want any dings or scratches? The thought of a ding or scratch cause you to seize?
That is how I am with new appliances.
I do everything but climb inside them to keep them spotless. SOS, Comet, Clorox spray, baking soda, you name it. I use it.
This morning was stove morning. I took apart everything I knew I could, to clean that baby.
It is a gas range, which is new for me. The only other gas range we had was in our house on Smith Road, in Norwood. The stove was really old and was a flame thrower. I hated it because I was afraid I was going to blow up the house every time I lit it.
But these new models are fine. Mighty fine. And you can remove many of the parts to clean them.
I took off knobs, the griddle ,the thing-a-ma-jigs that are heavy and you put the pans on, and the burner caps, etc.
Somehow, the oven had a couple of burned on black marks. How did that happen? I have covered everything and used baking sheets under pans.
The SOS pads removed the spots, so thankfully, I didn’t have get into a snit fit.
Oh, don’t tell me that you don’t ever go into snit mode. I don’t go into them nearly as much as I used to, but when I need to, I can muster one.
How do you do snit?
I start with it being someone else’s fault.
Never mine. Someone, something, rational or irrational, real or not, gets into my teeny, tiny brain and seizes it. The stink eye may or may not pop out on my forehead. And life gets off kilter.
Like aI said, it is never my fault, my perspective or my overreacting.
I don’t like to have snits nearly as much as I used to. For some reason, I thought I HAD to have a snit or be in a snit if f something in life didn’t go my way.
I chose to snit.
But the snits never got me anywhere. They certainly didn’t make me feel any better. And when I was in a snit, I could be a shit-zu.
Thanks goodness I learned that there are other responses to life’s aggravations, real or perceived slights by people or things. (You know, sometimes I thought things like stove knobs behaved badly just to annoy me.)
I know when I am going to “Snit-ville” and most often, I put on the brakes and redirect. Sometimes I have to have a chat with myself. It is a simple chat, “Susan, don’t be an asshat.”
Other times, it is forgiveness and trying to look at where the other person is coming from. (That is on Tuesdays, when I wear my halo.)
And another reason is that I am just too tired to fool with the nonsense that my mind can create.
So, back to the sausage.
I was wrapping up my stove and oven cleaning when Nick said, “When you are done, I’m going to cook sausage.”
“What? I just spent an hour cleaning this thing.”
To which my angel responded, in a tone I have heard throughout 44 years of marriage, “What’s the point of buying food if you don’t cook it.”
He huffed a bit. Then he told me that I could cook it.
No thank you.
Nick, my sweet angel, sat on the couch while I adjourned to my office. A few minutes later, he walked down the hall to my office and I asked, “Are you over your snit?”
He actually laughed and came and sat on the copy chair in the corner of my office.
It was the perfect opportunity to discuss this pattern of his.
I, an actress for all time, did a reenactment of the previous scene, and noted how he loves to make generalizations. It is how he operates. But I got him to crack up … really laugh and he picked on me and I cracked up, too.
We both know we can sometimes be numnuts. But we are each other’s numnut.
The snit is officially over and life has gone on.
No sausage has been cooked. You have to let that clean stove rest for an hour. And then it will be “fry er up.”
PS Nick knows I am writing about this. I told him my first line and as always, he said, “Oh great,” and was pleased as punch. And … an hour later, the sausage was cooked … and eaten.
Copyright 2016 Susan Hipkins DeBow. All Rights Reserved.