(gigglegigglesquirmgiggle)

Tomorrow is my husband's Monday.  I'm hoping this week will not be like last week.

Last week, he was very busy, he worked an extra day, and he was late getting home.  That's fine.  I was not bitchy about that at all, these things happen, I know he's gotta do what he's gotta do.

But.

Ah, isn't there always a "but."

But, don't come home, and come home cranky.  Irritable.  We're happy to see you.  Throw us a bone, man.

It was really hard, I mean, the first couple of days, I tried to cheer him up.  I was ON, too, the kids got their homework done, dinner was made, we were all nice to him...and he was still cranky.   I offered all kinds of distraction for him, but he was just not interested.  I tried subtle, I tried obvious, I tried the direct approach of just coming out and stating what was on the table.   No taker.

So I tried something else:  I left him alone the next couple of days.  Fine.  Whatever; I have things to do too; no problem, with a touch of 'hmmphf'. 

By Thursday morning,  I was irritated.   I had hardly talked to him all week, beyond pleasantries and need-to-know details.  I wasn't about to (and didn't) call him, either (and usually, I do around lunchtime, just to see what's up--are you coming home; are we meeting you; what do you want to eat/what should I make?)

He called me that afternoon, and I could hear in his voice that he was mentally just done.  I could tell he was about to say he wanted to come home, and he did say it, but then remembered something else he needed to finish first.  Sigh.

I felt my chill defrosting.  I suggested we all go out to dinner.  It was a good idea, but I could still feel myself being a little annoyed with him.

Later, finally, it was just us.  I was walking by him and he was sitting on the bed.  An easy target, I had to do something.

So I tackled him.  I started talking smack, about how he was a huge pain in the ass, and I needed to teach him a lesson.

I don't know why I did this, as having the upper hand in a impromptu wrestling match with Mr W is impossible for me.  See, I'm very, very, very ticklish.  VERY.  (He is not, not at all; it's really quite unfair.)

And of course, he starts tickling me.  I'm snorting--because you know, my laugh can be quite ladylike--and gasping, and begging him to stop.

"No, wait <giggle, giggle>.  No, stop. <snort> Stop, stop or everyone is gonna wake up.  Besides, you just dig it that I squirm and giggle at the same time."  <gasp, cough, he stops>  "You missed a spot."  <gigglegigglesquirmgiggle>  "Stoooo-op," I  mock-whine.

Whew.  I'm getting in a good breath.  Truce, I'm thinking, as I get up to go about my business.  He comes up to hug me.

And sneakily, uses the scruffy beard approach at my neck, and I'm gasping for air again, clinging to him like I'm about to go under for the last time. 

I thaw completely.

It's really easy to forgive someone when they take your breath away.  Literally.