Him: 'Sweetheart, we need gas, gas for the barbeque.'
Me: 'Ok my dearest.' Check gas gauge and still in ok state. Weight is what I go by, and it is feeling a bit light. Better get gas soon.
Him: 'We need gas for the barbe. Can you get a new bottle next week?'
Me: 'Ok.' There is still a good bit left. No rush.
Him tidied up the barbeque the next time it was used and I looked online as I knew the gauge was unreliable. Pour hot water over the bottle was the best advice. I will do that. I hate the thought of swapping back a gas bottle, still half full. I didn't follow through.
Him: 'Can you turn the barbe on'.
Me: 'Ok. Dearest, there is no gas left why didn't you tell me the gauge had gone into the red zone?' Barbeque fails to proceed.
Him: 'I told you to get gas. You are an effing know it all, pondering about how much gas is left, penny pinching about returning unused gas, checking on the internet about to check gas levels in bottles. I told you to get a replacement gas bottle, and you didn't.'
I had only had one glass of pre dinner wine, so I dashed out and returned in twelve minutes with a new gas bottle.
And then the fighting started.
Right back to 1979.