In this Valley of Tears

I know that some couples seem to get off on it, but Tony and I never argue. We moved in together and negotiated our personal foibles (toothpaste, toilet seat, etc) without major incident. I handled Tony's obsessive mother and her less than subtle digs that I'm not feeding her son ; He maneouvered my overprotective Dad. Tony doesn't particularly like my friends and I suppose he tolerates them as much as I do his mates. Neither one of us likes confrontation. We both have hectic work schedules and things can get a bit stressful but we've always managed to help the other unwind without provoking any personal crisis.

So our little incident this morning over breakfast has come as something of a shock. In fact 4 hours later and I'm still not the better of it. It all started with something trivial ; I tried to laugh it off ; He thought I was being dismissive. I didn't like his tone ; He didn't appreciate my attitude. Why are you getting defensive ; Why are you so being so aggressive? Things combusted very quickly - I suppose with our lack of quarrelling experience, we never saw the tell-tale signs. Suffice to say that before I realised it we were in the midst of a blazing hurtful row.

I didn't wait for the lift to the train station - didn't want to be in the same car as him. He continued on without stopping. That man can be so stubborn. Not prepared for the weather, I was soaked before I got to the end of the road. Miss the 07:51 to Pearse and by 08:00 the platform was heaving. Trying to board, I got man-handled out of the way by Ms Mutton-dressed-as-lamb with the fake Prada handbag. The carriage was unbearably sticky standing and moreso in the armpit of Metal Mike and his tinnitus-causing MP3 player.

It just wasn't fair. It's not suppose to be like this.

A kindly 40-something gent lifted his head from his suduko and saw my plight. He did his mother proud by swiftly pouncing to his feet and in a gentle, understated way proffered me his seat. Mumbling my appreciation, I tumbled into it. And that's when it happened. I burst into a flood of tears. I don't mean a quiet discreet sob. No we're talking the whole dramatic nine yards complete with the sporadic breathless choke. Mr Suduko looked stunned and at the same time embarrassed. The young Italian-looking guy sitting opposite me, quickly "ciao-ed" into his mobile and fled the carriage and this hormonally challenged mad woman. The young one sitting beside him never flinched and didn't even look up. My hankie, soaked through from the elements, was next to useless. I remembered that my mascara wasn't waterproof and that I'd a 9:00am meeting.

Mr Suduko hunkered down beside me and asked that dangerous rhetorical question. Now he could have asked so many other less damaging questions. "Do you have a hankie?" ; "Would you mind not dripping on my Dubes, I've a 9:00 o'clock too you know?" ; "Is that the thanks I get for giving you my seat you ungrateful bitch?" But no, he gently enquired "Are you okay?". Cue more tears, more chokes and more tears.

A lesser man would have followed Milan Boy off at Lansdowne Road and taken the next dart the rest of the way. But he put an arm around me, told me that sometimes a good cry was the best medicine and not to be letting anyone upset me. He'd a clean, dry hankerchief which he insisted that I keep along with his Metro. Then he did a mini-Hugh Grant comedy routine, telling me not to worry 'cos he'd gotten them both free at the train station. Quickly correcting himself that it was the Metro & the Herald AM that had been freely distributed. The hankerchief was a gift from an ex-girlfriend which he thought was an ironic statement on the state of their relationship!

Good God, Mrs Suduko, you did some job with this one. He kept talking, quietly drawing attention way from my hysteria long enough for me to regain some measure of composure. The strange thing is, that I've seen this guy numerous times on the platform before. I've never spoken to him. I don't pay him too much attention. I think I caught him once checking out my cleavage as he stood over me on the train. But thanks to a level of calm sensitivity that I never thought I'd see in a Irish man, he transformed himself in my eyes from being a nerdy creep to being Rock Hudson and Carry Grant incarnate.

To avoid embarrassment, I'll have to change my choice of trains in the mornings now. But thank you Mr Suduko for being so sweet and I'm sorry for being such a handful.