You know exactly what I'm talking about!
You both come home from the grind, backs cricked, dogs yowling, heads full of burrs, briefcases full of homework, anger juice percolating through every fiber of your being.
You think you catch your husband staring at your caboose with what you feel is barely-masked disdain.
Your girlfriend's voice, usually so mellifluous, particularly when screaming your name mid-coitus, grates like a rake scraped across a blackboard.
And then...
K A B O O M!
Blood in the brain. Blood in the cheeks. Blood in front of the eyes. Two seconds away from blood being on the floor.
Then, 2 hours later, you both tug off the 12-ouncers, a zen-like feeling of purgation permeating meat and mind. All torpedos spent, all pressure vented, a full-body enema.
You feel...pristine. Both of you. You then proceed to enjoy a lovely, laugh-buoyed conversation, or the most riotous sex you could possibly imagine.
It's not like arguing with your boss. It's not like fighting with your sister or brother or brother-in-law or father-in-law or step-father. You feel open, bared, everything else peeled back, animal. And afterwards, standing in a mutual puddle of your exasperations, you somehow feel more closer to your loved one than ever.
Does anybody do that? Yeah? No?
You both come home from the grind, backs cricked, dogs yowling, heads full of burrs, briefcases full of homework, anger juice percolating through every fiber of your being.
You think you catch your husband staring at your caboose with what you feel is barely-masked disdain.
Your girlfriend's voice, usually so mellifluous, particularly when screaming your name mid-coitus, grates like a rake scraped across a blackboard.
And then...
K A B O O M!
Blood in the brain. Blood in the cheeks. Blood in front of the eyes. Two seconds away from blood being on the floor.
Then, 2 hours later, you both tug off the 12-ouncers, a zen-like feeling of purgation permeating meat and mind. All torpedos spent, all pressure vented, a full-body enema.
You feel...pristine. Both of you. You then proceed to enjoy a lovely, laugh-buoyed conversation, or the most riotous sex you could possibly imagine.
It's not like arguing with your boss. It's not like fighting with your sister or brother or brother-in-law or father-in-law or step-father. You feel open, bared, everything else peeled back, animal. And afterwards, standing in a mutual puddle of your exasperations, you somehow feel more closer to your loved one than ever.
Does anybody do that? Yeah? No?