She moved the salt.
He moved it back.
The same pattern day in and out, each meal a dance of the condiment.
For her, the move was mired in defiance, she would not allow him control of the salt, she would not submit to his will. He may control the money, and decisions over where to spend their summer, but he would not control the salt.
For him, they were playing. The back and forth of a shuttlecock, the banter of two old pals, affectionate and familiar.
He had a twinkle in his eye as he swiped the salt to the left, she had a demon in her soul as she moved it to the right.
A battle never ending.