They're fighting again...

My roommate is twenty-one years old. (Those who know me know that I have a general loathing for early-twenty-somethings. It's not so much that I find anything intrinsically abhorrent about them. It's just that I remember being that age; I was an idiot. Most early-twenty-somethings are idiots.)

My roommate is perky and sometimes irritating. But she's a good person, despite her unfortunate age (and the world view that goes along with it). My roommate's boyfriend is twenty-four. He comes over quite often. He's a good guy. She's a good girl. But there's one thing that irritates me:

They fight a lot.

I came downstairs and he was preparing a pesto pizza at her direction. She looked up at one point and exclaimed, "Noooo! What are you doing? Don't you want a crust? And it can't be that thick!!"

The boyfriend commutes sixty miles each way to and from work. He returned from work, went to the store, purchased what my roommate had requested, came over, and proceeded to prepare the meal. Sure, he may not have known what he was doing. Sure, he may have messed it up. But he was doing something kind and nice for his girlfriend. And she was being hyper-critical. I winced myself at her abrasive tone.

Now, I likely wouldn't put up with such behavior from a significant other. But if someone did talk to me like that, it wouldn't really be worth my time to engage.

But he engaged. Briefly. The spat was over almost as soon as it started.

My roommate remedied the pesto/crust problem and directed her boyfriend to slice mozzarella. Immediately, she ripped into him for cutting the slices too thick. Then she put her hand in the way to pick up a slice of cheese and get him the Look of Satan when his slicing came close to her fingers. "My fingers!" she shouted. More bad behavior. And what did the boyfriend do?

He engaged. I felt like I was listening to my parents argue as a kid. My roommate had that Jewish-mother-as-abrasive-as-kitchen-cleanser demeanor. Her boyfriend had that self-righteous defensive tone. I remember how on the occasions when my parents fought, it was just like my roommate and her boyfriend. It was always incredibly loud, incredibly obnoxious, and about something incredibly asinine. These silly arguments that I remember from my childhood were always symptoms of some other stress.

And then he left the house. At some point, though, he came back. And about an hour ago. They've been arguing since. I catch snippets and phrases. "I've never been so hurt..." "You don't trust me..." "Can't you...?" He left the house again. He came back. The boy is trying to talk to her, trying to reach some sort of resolution.

I remember these sorts of arguments; I've had them. I remember these emotionally draining confrontations. And you know what? It's never worth it. It's never productive. Nothing is ever accomplished. I've been there. I've been the one who's come back, desperate for a resolution, desperate for an ending. The status quo is usually maintained, apologies are exchanged, and nothing is ever resolved.

I may not have have the best history or luck with my relationships. That said, I'm so glad I'm past these types of arguments. I'm so glad I've reached a point where, for the most part, I'm able to walk away before I lash out and say mean and hurtful things. I'm so glad that I can address small problems before they become huge disasters.

Perhaps youth really is wasted on the young. (I say that tongue-in-cheek, realizing that I'm still young.) Perhaps there are folks who wish they could go back and experience the exhilarating feeling of the firsts we experience when we're young: first kisses, first loves, first heartbreaks. Perhaps youth really is akin to a magic, fairy-land place.

But sometimes growing up feels good.