Rachel placed the headphones over her ears and sunk into the tub. She cranked the volume up loud enough that she’d miss a tornado if one come through.
She had had it at a normal level, but that didn’t work. Her husband had ignored her pleas for some alone time, instead he had knocked on the door five times since she entered the bathroom. After the last time, when he asked where the flour was, Rachel snapped.
“It’s in the kitchen, with all the other food,” she yelled. She then got in his face and told him, “I’ve reached my limit, Mike. I need some time to myself; just a few damn minutes to relax. Is that too much to ask?”
She didn’t give him time to answer, but slammed the door in his face.
The scared look on his face would have made her laugh on another day, but today she didn’t care how overwhelmed he felt dealing with the twins. Let him have a taste of what I go through every day, she thought and settled more comfortably into the tub.
Rachel soaked for an hour and a half. She felt revived when she emerged from the bathroom, until she walked into the kitchen and saw the mess her husband had made. Flour covered every counter, plates were stacked sky high in the sink, more plates than it took for three people to eat a five-course meal, and trash littered the floor.
She was aching for a fight when she stormed into the livingroom, but stopped short. Mike lay sprawled on the couch, snoring for all he was worth, with both babies sleeping soundly on his chest.
I guess some of us have higher limits than others, she thought and headed back to the kitchen to clean up.