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What’s the Not-So-Good Word?

Most people seem to want the last word in an argument; they consider that ‘winning’. That’s not how it works for me, though. I nearly always get the last word — but I’ve never won an argument in my life. Possibly, it changes things when the last word is ‘What?‘

“Maybe we’d be tussling over my room being dirty, or me coming home late after curfew, or whether the Replacements would rock Pink Floyd’s socks off.”

Take a typical disagreement with my parents when I was growing up, for instance. Maybe we’d be tussling over my room being dirty, or me coming home late after curfew, or whether the Replacements would rock Pink Floyd’s socks off. We’d go back and forth for a while, and things would get heated, and finally they’d say something like, ‘Don’t you remember what we told you about this last time?‘

And I’d say, ‘What?‘

And they’d just shake their heads sadly and walk away. I got in the last word, but I still lost the argument. All the last word got me was grounded, with a cut allowance. It doesn’t seem fair.

The same sort of thing happens at work, though. Occasionally, someone in the office will find some nit-picky piddly little thing or other to get on my case about. Like last week, for instance, when the boss found me sleeping in my underwear under my desk. Look, I was tired. It was hot. I don’t see the big deal, frankly.

Still, we had an hour-long and decidedly one-way ‘conversation’ in her office that ended with her saying, ‘You know, there’s a name for people like you.‘

And me saying, ‘What?‘

And she just shook her head sadly and walked away. She can’t ground me, exactly — but I suspect my ‘allowance’ might get docked for a few weeks. Some things never change, I suppose.

But I never expected my bad luck to bite me in the ass in my own house. Still, that’s just what happened. A couple of mornings ago, the wife and I got into a spirited discussion about whether or not she really couldn’t ‘believe it’s not butter’. I laid out the overwhelming evidence in favor of it actually being butter, but she was unmoved. And things got a little ugly. Until she finally got fed up, stormed to the door, looked back and said, ‘Guess what you’re not getting of for a month?‘

‘What?‘

And she shook her head sadly and walked away. She never did tell me what I wasn’t getting any of — was it dinner? Was it money? Was it bubble bath privileges? I suppose I’ll find out, but in the meantime it’s clear that my ‘last word’ didn’t win me that argument. Not if sleeping on the living room couch at night is any indication, anyway.

Still. Deep in her heart, way deep down, I know she knows its really butter. I’ll have the last laugh — and not just the last word — in this one yet.