Darling P,
Really shocked to discover you don’t already know that hubby already agrees with everything I say. In fact, he often fails to allow me to finish a complete thought before declaring I am “absolutely right” while returning, head bobbing in consent, to his blackberry.
The problem, of course, is that he hears not one single word I’ve uttered but has learned, much like our darling dog who shall not be named, that submission is truly the only path of success in this household. Occasionally, but only so, he will declare that I know “every fucking thing” or some such hogwash as a way to assert a measure of resistance to my decisions. As soon as I immediately offer to hand off “every fucking thing” to him, however, he quickly retreats.
I worry that any objective so-called IQ tests would only muddy the already cloudy waters of our delicate balance of power. What if, in fact, hubby proved himself the more capable one? I fear that I would simply retort with a battery of emotional intelligence tests that might damage his already limited capacity for caring for me and the cherubs.
In case it isn’t already clear enough, darling P, I think must state quite frankly that I would be happy to meet hubby on almost any stage of competitive play. The sad fact, however, is that I would have no regard for anything or anyone (read: the cherubs) if we started down that potentially thorny path. I would win, frankly, at any cost. Just don’t think I’m prepared to let him know that–at least not yet.
C.
