Transgression

An inauspicious start to the day before Emily has a night with her boyfriend and lover. She came into the bedroom holding one of B's dresses, the dress she wore on Monday (B prefers dresses; she's quite the girly girl...wonder where she gets that from).

"Did you dry this?" Emily asked, holding up the dress.

"Where is that from?" I asked.

"The clothes basket on top of the dryer," she said.

"Then yes," I nodded.

She furrowed her brow. "There's orange paint all over the front," she said, "this is ruined now."

"I...I didn't know it was stained," I said, "no one told me."

"You should have looked at it before you washed it," she retorted, "am I responsible for laundry now?"

"No, but...how was I supposed to know?" I asked, aware the tone creeping into my voice but unable to control it.

"Look at things before you wash them," she said. "This isn't the first time.

"I don't have time to look at everything before I wash," I said, "that isn't my fault...no one told me." The tone wasn't just creeping into my voice, it was obvious, out there, apparent, on display.

Emily narrowed her eyes, crossed her arms. "You need a five minute time out," she said.

"Emily!"

"Ten minutes," she said.

"Emily, please," I said, still with a tone.

"Fifteen minutes," she said. "How long do you want to do this?"

I opened my mouth, stopped. "Now?"

"Now," she said, pointing to the corner. 

While I stood, facing the wall, I got a lecture about tone and disagreements. She was right, I could make my point (I was wrong, but allowed to make the point), but it was the tone that got me in trouble.