I must be married to your H’s twin. The man can throw the biggest pity party over the most absurd things and sound like he’s nine years old because he never gets to have any fun. I do not respond well to pouting and whining. Our kids learned that quickly enough, but H did not.
Decades ago, H was frustrated over finding someplace to eat with our very small kids. He pulled into the parking lot of someplace unsuitable and I said no way. He hit the gas thinking he was backing up, but instead jumped the curb ahead of us as I shouted, “Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” A tiny voice in the backseat asked me why I was yelling my prayers. 