Upsetti Spaghetti

Who knew Ragu could cause so much trouble?

It’s a little embarrassing to admit that I got into an argument with my husband over a 12oz jar of spaghetti sauce. Embarrassing but true.

Stick with me while I set the scene.

Clark is recently semi-retired—yay! It’s been a huge relief for both of us. No more juggling patient care, an administrative role, and family life. I love that he’s retired, mostly because he’s taken over the cooking, which means I can go entire days without worrying about dinner (praise the Lord).

But, like most couples, we don’t exactly operate on the same wavelength when it comes to food.

I have an extraordinary number of food “rules”—rules I follow until I don’t. They shift based on my mood, stress level, or an overwhelming desire to eat my feelings. To me, they make perfect sense. These rules stem from a lifelong battle with weight and body image (a story for another time), but the important thing to know here is this: I can be sensitive about food.

Clark, on the other hand, has no rules. Cookies for breakfast? Sure. Tater tots and chickie nuggies? A staple meal. French fries? God’s gift to mankind. He knows nutrition labels exist but considers them decorative. It’s a blissful world he lives in.

He does try to be mindful for my sake, and I try not to micromanage his grocery purchases. The operative word here is try. Sometimes, I fail. Spectacularly.

Scene: Our Kitchen.

Clark is putting groceries away. I step in to help. He stuffs vegetables into drawers while I organize pantry items—boxes of pasta, crackers, the usual stuff. Then I spot it: a 12oz jar of Ragu sitting on the shelf (in the wrong place, but I’m trying not to care).

Now, is there anything wrong with Ragu? Not really.
Do I have a strong preference for Rao’s? Absolutely.
Did I pause to think through how to express that preference?
No. No, I did not.

Here’s where the details get murky. The truth may never be known since we don’t have security footage. But this is how I remember it:

I say, "Hey Clark, I see you bought Ragu. It’s kinda sugary."
Clark says he heard: "I can’t believe you bought Ragu; it’s crap."

I grab the jar to point out the sugar content. He sighs, already irritated: "I get it. I get it." But I keep going, and he gets more defensive. He snaps, "I get it, Alex."

Now I’m offended. "Why are you mad at me?"
He stops talking.

I eat my lunch in silence, knowing the worst possible thing I could do is push again. He finishes putting away groceries. When we’re both done, I take a deep breath, walk up to him, and put my arms around him.

"Babe, what’s wrong?"

Now, without video evidence, I can neither confirm nor deny the accuracy of this, but here’s what I remember him saying:

"I don’t know why you got all crappy about the spaghetti sauce. I just don’t get it. I mean, there’s all kinds of sugar in this house, and you know it."

What I heard was:
"I can’t believe you got on me about spaghetti sauce when you bought Girl Scout cookies and ate an entire bag of Costco pita chips. You’re ridiculous."

Now, I know he didn’t say that, but my brain translated it that way anyway.

Then he adds, "If you don’t like what I buy, you can do the shopping yourself."

And naturally, I handled this maturely.

I started to cry. Then I yelled about how food is hard, and he has no empathy, and I just wanted healthier spaghetti sauce, and how could he make me feel bad about buying Girl Scout cookies when I CLEARLY BOUGHT THEM FOR HIM BECAUSE I AM A LOVING, CARING WIFE WHO GRACIOUSLY ACCOMMODATES HIS FOOD PREFERENCES?!

And as for the grocery shopping? I.WILL.DO.IT.MYSELF.

So yeah. We didn’t talk for the rest of the night.

Ugh. Tell me this has happened to you, too.

The next day, we talked. I apologized for getting all upsetti spaghetti (as Carmie would say) about his sauce choice and admitted he was right—if I didn’t like what he bought, I could shop myself or, better yet, just ask nicely for Rao’s next time.

Embarrassing? Yes. Hilarious (in hindsight)? Also yes.

And the best part? The universe had one final laugh.

A few days later, Clark picks up a jar of Rao’s. Naturally, I notice immediately.

"What’s this for?" I ask.

“The Valentine’s Day dinner I’ve been planning for you all week,” he says.

(A moment to acknowledge the irony: Rao’s has exactly two grams less sugar than Ragu. Well done, Alex.)

Then, on Valentine’s Day, Clark leaves a beautiful card on the counter. I read it and thank him.

"You wanna know something funny?" he asks.
"Of course."
"I bought that card the same day I bought the Ragu."

We laughed.

Life is messy, imperfect, and full of misunderstandings. Here’s your reminder not to let them get the better of you.

It’s better not to stay upsetti spaghetti for too long.

Your front-row fan,
Alex