The Button Room

Many months ago, I was up-to-my-eyeballs frustrated with Al. For some reason, every little thing he did was getting on my nerves. One day, I looked at him and said:

You are pushing my buttons. It's like to found the secret key to a button room and every single button inside is labeled 'melissa' and you are running around frantically hitting all of them to see what they do. Every. Single. Button.

He looked at me and replied:

I'll find a new room to play in.

(psd graphics, free domain)

Since then, the term "button room" has been a running joke. Whenever I'm agitated with him, I can usually say "are you playing in the button room again?" and that's enough to alter the behavior.

Well, this week has been a mess. A real doo-zy. 

Al started his stop-smoking regimen on Sunday and is showing clear signs of withdrawals. {And, to be blunt (overshare alert!), I stopped my birth control so I can start tracking my cycle again in preparation of baby-making. We're still some time away from actually "trying," but with my trip to Vegas coming up, it made sense to alter my cycle now anyway.} Between his nicotine withdrawals and my hormone imbalance, we are just getting on each other's last nerve. 

Last night, laying in bed, I clicked off the TV and rolled over to Al who was almost asleep. I poked him, moved his arm, and started inching as close to him as possible. And just when he thought I wanted a cuddle, I put my ice-cold feet directly on the back of his legs. He yelped and quickly flipped over to look at me. 

20 minutes later, I was still trying to warm up my feet and pestering him to stay awake with me and chat. Finally, he looks at me and says:

"seriously woman, back the hell away from the button room"

Oops. I guess I found the panic button.