Marital Conflict

        Frank and I have been married for almost three weeks now, which means I’m still walking around with a big dumb grin on my face, especially when he begins sentences with “My wife and I”.  I grin when I look down and see two thin white gold bands and a sparkly on my left hand.  I grin whenever anyone calls me Mrs. Webb.  Being married is a lot of fun, and there are a lot of perks, and just good times.  However, I must be honest and say that along with the marital bliss come the topics of contention.  Frank and I, although we are both amiable and laid-back in general, do not always agree on everything.  Our preferences, techniques, habits, and interests do not align exactly (as well they should not, or that would be both boring and odd), and so I would like to take the opportunity to outline some of the more extreme examples that my husband and I have butted heads over (not to the point of Frank having to sleep on the couch, you’ll be happy to know). 
   First and foremost, our preferences in flavor differ quite a lot.  Frank is a fan of Mexican food, which I only tolerate in small, occasional, and Americanized amounts.  I prefer the flavor of the Italian cuisine when I want excitement, where Frank claims the Italians know nothing of spice. I  take delight in sweets and Frank does not (obviously I am the exception to that case).  Our differing preferences in flavor sometimes throw a damper on deciding where to dine out.  Frank expresses interest in trying some new place that is rumored to have an excellent mexican menu and I stifle a groan in response.  Frank likes lots of flavor all the time.  I like things bland, apparently.  He will douse his eggs with three different spices and then add salt, and my eggs are happy just being eggs.  Meals require planning and cooperation, or its every man for himself. 
   Movie genres are something else we tend to disagree on.  I believe an action sequence should tastefully compliment a captivating storyline.  A flimsy been-there-done-that plot should not exist for the sake of the action in a movie.  I need characters I can relate to, interesting dialogue, a twist that I never saw coming is nice, and a tidy wrap-up for an ending, and if that’s going to be sad it had better be a happy-sad.  I don’t like a lot of violence and other unecessary content that I need to sift through to have a good time either.  I ask a lot from the movies I give up valuable time and money to see.  Frank is happy if things are blowing up and people are getting shot at.  Naturally there is some discussion and compromise involved if we’re going to agree on a movie to watch together. 
   Our tickling styles differ quite a lot.  I like to compare my tickling style to that of a fencer.  Delicate, quick, and great fun for me because I’m in and out before people know what hit them.  Or poked them, rather.  I can get in a half-dozen sharp blows to the ribs and leave my opponent growling in exasperation and enjoy the whole thing quite thoroughly.  Unfortunately it  never seems to occur to me to scamper off before my opponent regains his composure and I end up standing around giggling when Frank retaliates.  Much to my dismay, Frank’s style of tickling resembles that of a pitbull.  He’ll grab on and never let go.  Once his fingers have honed in on my ribs or  feet there’s just no  hope.  I try writhing and screaming and pleading and pulling but its just no use.  There is one tecnique that sometimes works, although its very difficult.  If I grow very still, and summon all of my desperation and direct it into a heartbreakingly sad expression and fix my gaze on his, he’ll feel the appropriate amount of remorse and reluctantly let go. 
   Dogs vs. Cats.  Frank doesn’t mind cats, but he believes that dogs are the greatest and should have complete access to the house, no matter the weather.  I like dogs, but I prefer dogs outside.  And lets face it, cats are just great.  A purring bundle of gentle serenity on my lap is what I need at the end of a tiresome day, not a wet nose shoved under my arm.  I want something I can pick up and squeeze without being assulted by frantic tongues, tails, and barks.  The quiet rumble of a happy cat suits me just fine.  Our household will be graced with canine and feline presence alike, but the great Dogs vs. Cats Debate shall continue for all time, but all in good fun.  Well, I could go on about other topics and the heated discussions they invoke…mice…hygene…Taylor Swift…but I think the content in this blog will do for now.  And don’t let the topic concern you, Frank and I get along swimmingly.  In fact, I’ve taken too much time writing this, I shall go find him and throw myself into his arms.  I leave you with that thought.