The fight began while I was massaging my wife's feet.
We were curled up on the couch. I was kneading and caressing Jennifer's insole and heel. Each little piggy was carefully attended to, as was every corn, callus and bunion. Then, into the third hour, I got to thinking, Wouldn't it be great if someone else were doing this? Only I didn't think it -- I said it.

There was silence from the east end of the sofa. I sped up the massage and suggested we switch on HGTV. "They're remodeling bathrooms!" I said, a little too eager to please.

Too late. "I don't ask you for much," she said, moving to the easy chair. "May I please have the remote?" She was angry. I could tell because Jennifer gets polite when she's angry. And then the fight was on. I knew because we weren't saying anything. When we're not fighting, Jennifer can wax eloquent on any subject. While watching Medium last month, she held forth on the topic "Is it me, or does Patricia Arquette's haircut look off?"

Well, two can play this game -- I buried my nose in The New York Times crossword puzzle. Since it was a Thursday, I got only three clues right. But there I sat, staring at 27 down, "Beverly Sills's shoe size," pointedly ignoring Jennifer and the couples remodeling their hampers.

Jennifer was the first to cave. It was a few hours later. The news was now on, and I had just figured out that Beverly Sills wore a size "bix" when Jennifer whispered, "I'm sorry." She's not a fighter, and the pressure was killing her. She sat on my lap and kissed me ever so tenderly, just as sports came on.    更多信息请访问：http://www.24en.com/

Frankly, I see no reason why I can't kiss my wife and watch Mets highlights simultaneously. However, this seems to break fight-makeup protocol, in which it is spelled out in some handbook (which I apparently misplaced) that when your wife wants to bury the hatchet, you are not allowed to watch sports.

"You don't want to kiss me?"

"I do. But I would prefer to kiss you during the weather."

Off my lap and back to the chair she went.

"All night I watched couples agonize over the benefits of the Centerset Double Handle Lavatory Faucet from the Victorian Collection versus the Widespread High-Arc Lavatory Faucet," I reminded her. "But when sports comes on …"

"May I please have the remote?"

If she thinks she can take that tone with me …

Earlier, Jennifer had pointed out that she doesn't ask me for much. And it's true. I'm the needy one.

The one who must have his jokes laughed at, who needs his hand held when we go to parties, the one who ducks all the important decisions.

"C'mon, I'll massage your feet," I offered. Before I could catch the words and stuff them back in my mouth, she was on the couch.

Now it was her turn. She switched on ESPN. And as the Mets scored the go-ahead run …

"So," she said, "do you think Patricia Arquette will grow out her hair?"