I was traumatized. My heart was beating out of my chest, sweat dripping off my face. I wanted to move, but I just couldn’t convince my body to do what my brain was asking of it.
Outside the car stood a man. The man was quiet, but his face showed his anger. It was boiling inside him like hot lava ready to burst out of a volcano.
Today’s post is a part of a new series to the Vintage Storehouse & Co. Blog called Writing Inspiration every Thursday. In an effort to better my writing and to share a little bit more about myself personally, I decided to take on a 52 week writing prompt challenge from the book The Writer’s Devotional and I invite you to join in. The book includes tips, inspiration, quotes and help with improving your writing skills and developing your own voice. I am just including my response to the weekly writing prompt in this book. You can write your own version and share it in the comments below, or you can just follow along and read my responses.
He wouldn’t look at me. He wouldn’t even tell me what was wrong. Our car was stopped in the middle of a parking lot. The sun as beating down on us relentlessly.
It had happened. A nightmare come true. The one thing that would set my calm, easy going husband over the edge. He had gone off the deep end and I wasn’t sure if he was ever coming back.
A pickle. The pickle. A green, slimy, ridged slice of cucumber soaked in brine. It had weaseled it’s way into our lives unsuspectingly. It had taken my husband so off guard that he had eaten it without a second thought like carefully placed poison. Not knowing, until it was far too late.
Furry pursued. The car stopped immediately. My husband got out of the car without a word. Jaw clenched, eyes distant. Food went flying as he discovered more and more of the hideous pickle infestation. Within seconds it was littered all over the parking lot, covering the mix of rocks, plant and asphalt. He blamed me. I had insisted on going to this wretched place. He would never had tasted that disgusting thing if it weren’t for me.
It had happened. The pickle that had almost ruined our marriage. I still have the image of my husband’s rage filled face etched into my mind. Our lives would never be the same.
This story is an exaggerated version of an event that really happened. My husband and I were in on vacation for Easter one year and he had gone golfing early that morning with his brothers. When he came back to the condo we were staying in, I asked to go out for some food. (It was lunch time and I had been waiting around all morning). He was a little upset because he wanted to take a nap, but he reluctantly agreed to go. My husband does have an extreme hatred of pickles. He can’t even stand the smell of them. So when he ordered his lunch he asked for no pickles – obviously someone made a mistake. They just had no idea how bad the mistake had been. With the combination of pickles and lack of sleep, he completely snapped.
There are two great things about this story – 1.) We had an audience. This happened about 12:00 in the afternoon – there were plenty of witnesses to my husbands meltdown. 2.) Afterwards, when my husband went back to the store to ask for new sandwiches without pickles, they made him show them the old sandwich to verify that he hadn’t eaten it. So my husband got to walk around the parking lot with the employee showing them all the places he had thrown food and the huge mess he had made. I didn’t really know what was happening until he came out with the employee and started walking around the parking lot. I had just been sitting quietly in the car watching this whole thing unfold.
One word. Priceless.