The Domestic Cold War

I have a friend who says that every morning his wife moves the recliner several inches back to where she thinks it belongs, presumably for aesthetic reasons. And each evening, he moves it several inches towards the television, presumably for utilitarian reasons. And so the dance continues unspoken day after day. My wife and I have several of those unspoken, unseen tiny battles, many of which have been going on for years. An outside light on or off, a steamer on the counter in front of an outlet or not, which side of the cookie jar shows frontwards, and many more petty, seemingly meaningless situations. Why doesn't one of us just let it go? Rookie mistake. We each have our reasons for drawing those little lines in the sand that must be drawn. Why don't we just talk about each of those things and come to an agreement? Things that single people say. We've been down that road before and know that the road leads to Armageddon. But the battle must not escalate to the point of a nuclear holocaust. So we each pretend the perpetual minor skirmishes do not exist. And so I move the trash barrel five feet to the left. Again.