Compromise or combat?

It all kicked off about the kitchen stuff this evening. As a consequence, this is the first Friday night in ages that Philippa hasn’t stayed over.
We had a big confrontation about an hour ago. She accused me of being childish, I accused her of being selfish; she called me pathetic, I called her pedantic, etc, etc.
The products that caused the problems are from a range called “Jamie At Home.” I remarked “I wish Jamie did stay at pissing home. Then we wouldn’t see him on the frigging telly so much.”
It was her turn to cook, and she used as many Jamie Oliver utensils as possible, waving them towards me as she did so. All very tiring and horrible, really.
She says she doesn’t understand what the issue is, I said that’s because she doesn’t consider other people when she makes her decisions; I refused to eat anything cooked using ‘that mumbling gimboids saucepans’ and Philippa said fine and stormed out, pausing only to tip what would have been my tea into the bin.
Now I am alone in a messy kitchen, wondering whether to stamp my feet and stand my ground on principle, or to back down and shut up for the sake of peace.
Man, I am shit at relationships.

RC 9-9-11