Failure to Communicate

It's not often that Debbie and I run into a communication failure as big as the one we had last night. I thought I had made my intentions perfectly clear. She gave no indication of having a problem with my intended actions. However, when the deed was done, the reaction showed a clear misunderstanding.

With our impending trip to Detroit, we are always conscious of trying to finish all perishable items like milk. This particular week saw us run out of skim milk on Sunday. So, I picked up a half gallon to go through the week. In our household, a half gallon does not last 4 days, but I had a plan. We had almost a full gallon of Lauren's 2% milk and there was no way she was going to make a dent in that cache before our departure. So, I figured that once the half gallon of skim was cut in half, I would add 2% milk to it to return it to a full gallon. Sure, it would be 1% milk, but that's still better than drinking 2% straight.
Last night, the half gallon reached the half way point (I will not conjecture as to whether the half gallon was half full or half empty). It reached this point because I was pouring myself a glass of milk. Before I started, I told Debbie I was going to combine the milk after I poured my glass. I think the problem was I forgot to mention the "after I poured my glass" part. She assumed I was going to make the 1% concoction in my own glass. After pouring my glass, I proceeded to grab the 2% and fill the half gallon jug back to the top. During this time, Debbie's attention was focused on Christmas cards. So, when I finished the milk, I was taken aback by her question:

D: "So, how did it taste?"
Me: "How did what taste?"
D: "The milk!"
Me: "I guess it tasted like milk."
D: "Wasn't that the 1% combo?"

This is when the claxons went off in my head. I heard a little voice scream "Run!!! Get out of the house now!!!". I just looked at my beautiful, wonderful, pregnant, very hormonal wife and said "Um ... Honey .. sweetie ..." and I reached in to the refrigerator and showed her the now full half gallon jug.

You think cartoons exaggerate in these situations. I mean, how often does one's eyes come out of one's head?

The audible gasp confirmed my suspicion to get the hell out, but my legs were frozen by the fact that her eyes had jumped out of her head and were hovering around the half-gallon jug, studying it from all angles. When her eyes began to glow red and her hair stood straight up, bursting into flames, I realized my time for egress had passed. Now was the time for curling up into a ball and praying she doesn't leave many bruises.

Fortunately, the bruises were indeed few and Debbie even tried some of the home made 1% milk. The phrase "It's wierd, but not as bad as straight 2%" meant I was able to sleep inside that night. Good thing too, morning brought a frost and I don't think I would have been allowed a blanket.