Make Love, Not War (Or Things That Don't Belong at Walmart)

No, this isn't an attempt to make a political statement.  (And what do people mean when they say that, anyway?  That if we would all just sit around smooching on each other instead of sending our military to drop bombs on evil dictators, the tyrants would calmly decide to stop torturing and killing people?  Is that how that is supposed to work?  Evil Dictator: "Well, I was going to continue with the whole rape and pillage thing, but since everyone has retired to their bedrooms for the evening, I guess I'll just call it a day...").

Ahem, where was I?  Oh yes, running through the aisles of Walmart, hastily chucking things in my cart (for two reasons: 1) I hate Walmart and wanted to get out of there as fast as humanly possible, and 2) I usually have about 4.5 seconds in any given store before one of my children starts screaming) when I whisked by a middle-aged couple who were actively berating each other for not having the ability to read minds.  Apparently, not possessing thought-discerning powers renders one "stupid" and "incompetent".  Also "#$*#&!" and "@*&#%!" in case anyone is suffering for a lack of adjectives.

Now, I'm not going to say that I've attained a level of righteousness to where I've never had an argument with my husband, nor that I haven't  heartily disagreed with him in public.  Because, while David may be practically perfect in every way (seriously, it can be so aggravating to argue with someone who has the ability to say, "I appreciate your patience" and "I can totally see where you're coming from" while you are yelling at him), I am not yet so celestial.  However, I do subscribe to the philosophy that any arguing-in-public should be mumbled quietly in a corner, not blasted through the loudspeaker on aisle three.  No fisticuffs allowed, and the discussion should never, ever be about any of the following subjects: sex, sex, or sex.

Because, as far as the rest of us are concerned, no one else has sex.  Especially, but not limited to, our parents and grandparents.  Don't shatter the illusion, particularly not by broadcasting that your sex life is completely conditional on your husband's adherence to your ridiculous Tyrannical Wife policies.  If you think so little of your husband that you dangle sex in front of him like a carrot in front of a rabbit, only to yank it away when he forgets to take out the garbage, we don't want to hear about it.  Especially not while we are perusing a shelf full of last season's clearance items.  Seriously, people, there is a time and a place to discuss such things, and it's not at full volume next to the cash register.

After all, you never know what people might mistake you for if you are discussing sex in front of a cash register.