NC 64

NC 64

In relationships, very little holds more fascination for me than the things we do to each other when making up after a fight.

Nooo! I’m not talking about THOSE kinds of things, pervy! Get your mind out of the filth pot!

What I mean are the disgraceful sex acts meant to humiliate the other person into a learned lesson.

(Oh. I can see by the look in your eyes that these ARE the things you were thinking about. WELCOME TO THE GUTTER. YOU CAN NEVER LEAVE.)

And like all my depraved fascinations, this is one I’d like to figure out before I’m 64, after which I’m relatively sure the best part of make up sex will be the epsom bath and the nap.

But it’s not like I’ll ever get to the make-up sex. When I’m that old, I probably won’t even realize when I’m fighting….

THE YEAR 2037
Alex: You’re such an old ninny! You can’t remember a goddamned thing and you’re impotent!
Brandon: At least I’m not impotent!

(I’ve never seen an old couple get into a smack down, so my concerns about the lack of make-up sex after 64 are well-founded in limited observation, stereotype and supposition.)

Which might explain why currently it’s so goddamned difficult to get into a fight with me and move on towards forgiveness.

Alex: Fine, I’m sorry for hurting your feelings.
Brandon: You KNOW how big a baby I am.
Alex: What’s important is that I’ve apologized and we still love each other and can move on and forget all about it.
Brandon: WRONG! If you think I’m letting this go, you’ve got an appointment with the INS, sister!

But can you blame me? Make-up sex is one of those exercises you can be bad at and still have a relatively good time. It’s really the one instance where you might have a heart attack and still feel like you came out on top. It is a moral obligation to pick up the tab.

All this assumes, of course, that the person with whom you are fighting isn’t an inner demon or a mannequin wrapped in that sweater she left behind in 1992. In which case, you should probably stop relying so heavily on technology to fill the conversational void. After all, there are not, like, two Ps in iPod.