Fighting

They had fought all morning (about nothing in particular and everything in general). Coffee was taken in separate rooms, pushing social distancing to a whole new level. Grievances, long cooled on emotional back burners, began to simmer. "Maybe this is it," the thought came. "Maybe this is our Waterloo." (The ABBA ear worm provided additional irritation when it took hold.) "Is this it? The final stand - Armageddon?" came another thought in another area of the house. ('When did that movie come out?' proved a successful distraction for almost 22 minutes.) Just before dinner, The One Who Started It All peeked around the corner and said, "Hey" and the whole rigmarole ended with a soft confession of, "You are my favorite pain in the ass." The house sighed, never tiring of this part, even though the same storylines had been on repeat since it was built in 1862. "At least now, there's more nudity and swearing," the house observed, wondering if that was more or less satisfying than Victorian steamy repression overall.