bite me

I'm not convinced. Not in the least. We don't fight.

Certainly, we've had our share of snippy words, lip bites (me) and 'that's not what you said last time's' (him) but we have yet to release the big throw down. We need beenie off, hair tied, sleeves rolled, me standing on a chair, looking right at him in the eyes. We need to start swinging.

This is not at all to suggest perfection on either end. Yes, evidently, in large, we're compatible. This is also not to suggest lack of chemistry. We're chemical. But I need the grrr. Like cereal mascot grrr but it doesn't have to end 'great.' There's having issues regarding the relationship but then, there's the daily stuff. I'm a fantastic arguer. Let's bicker, let's debate, let's shout! Here are some topics of conflict I thought of:

Your black and white movies: I know only bad people say that they don't like classic cinema but I am what I am. No more Citizen Kane or Howard Hughes.

When you place objects right on the edge of tables it makes me uneasy. Scoot it back. Gravitate towards the center.

Do you use my eye cream?

Pottery class ends at 9pm. Smoozing with the teacher, distracting her, to work a bit longer works. Grrr...

Yes, I am over 5 feet. You damn tree.

You yank enough floss from the dispenser to decorate a tree. I will decorate you with it if you keep doing it.

Your ring tone. Birds. No.

Movies don't wait for its audience to arrive.

Hand me the tissue box faster. And help.

Asking me if I cut my hair every week is covering your bases. Cut it out.

As I'm rinsing the soap off my hands you come and place your ready-to-wash hands over mine. That brings me back to square one.

Staying patient while I rant, letting me kick my legs onto the matress (literally)
and putting your arms around me while my arms are crossed. You think you got it all figured out don't you?

Bite me.