In which Primo throws cheese

I need to write about the big cheese-throwing fight that Primo and I had when he returned after almost two straight weeks with Sly and Doris, but first, I have to tell you that he just got back from a good trip - a five-day 50th birthday celebration ski trip  with his best friend - but he is still cranky, which is what always happens after Sly and Doris, because he has returned with a cold.

Lord have mercy. Separate bedrooms - no! separate houses! - make so much sense.

The cold is not my fault! I don't care if he is cranky. I care if he is cranky at me.

The cheese.

Remember how we had to cancel the party because Primo was in such a foul mood and I had no intention of inflicting that on my friends?

Before I knew we were cancelling the party, I decided that we did not have enough cheese to make Ro-Tel dip and this great date-cheese-onion pizza so I bought more cheese.

When Primo got home, he did his usual inventory of the fridge and the freezer, an event I try to avoid because it's boring and pointless and I DO NOT CARE if he knows what has changed in the fridge. He can figure it out for himself.

But somehow, I got trapped in the kitchen. He opened the cheese drawer and saw all the new cheese. Then he saw the grocery store receipt on the counter and got all mad because 1. I had bought more cheese and 2. the cheese I bought was more expensive than the cheese he can get at Aldi and 3. why didn't I just go to to Aldi?

I tried reason, which many of you know does not work when someone is in lizard brain.

I said 1. my time is worth more than the hassle of going to Aldi and 2. it was only twelve damn dollars and he spends that much on two beers in one night.

He kind of lost it, saying that he works HARD to try to get good deals for us, etc, etc, etc.

I should inform you that Primo pitches a major fit about once every 12 or 18 months. I guess we were due. At first, he freaked me out. I was raised in a low-drama home with nice, non-alcoholic parents who did not scream at their children.

I am not excusing his behavior. He is a grown man now and it doesn't matter how he was raised - he knows better.

And yet.

So at first I was freaked out when I saw his tantrums and I worried that I had caused them and then I thought BULLSHIT he is being completely irrational.

Still, I would try to reason him out of it and try to calm him.

A few years ago, I decided I was not doing that any more.

I decided this was his deal and had nothing to do with me so screw him. (I was pretty angry.)

I decided just to watch.

So this time, after trying reason once and having it be ignored, I just folded my arms and watched the clock.

He yelled some more and threw a 24-oz block of cheddar to the floor.

I laughed.

"You did NOT just throw cheese!" I said.

He still yelled.

I shrugged. OK. What.ever.

He kept yelling.

I said, "Don't yell at me. I am the ONLY person in your life who is not f'ing it up. And if it weren't for me, you would be completely screwed because you would still have to be working and working and dealing with your parents at the same time would be even more of a nightmare. So you just need to calm the f down."

I was detached yet angry. I mean, I was not taking his anger personally, but I was still pissed that I had to be involved in any way. Get angry if you want, Primo, but leave me out of it. I AM NOT THE PERSON WHO IS F'ING UP YOUR LIFE.

After about 20 minutes, he stopped ranting. He apologized. Admitted he was a jerk and I agreed.

"Why don't you just take out your anger at your parents ON your parents?" I asked.

I mean, don't you think that would be the logical thing to do?