We are very different. I was spanked growing up, he wasn’t. It’s the reason we argue. He tells me I’m emasculating, I turn cold when he tries to express his feelings. I tell him his mother babied him as a child, nothing I do is ever good enough because she gave him everything.
In counseling, I admit to contacting my ex fiancé. He was raised by a single father quick with his fists. But I have brothers, I know how to fight, and I figured I’d have a better chance of winning than versus an overbearing mother.
But he’s heartbroken, and it’s the first time I’m happy to see him cry. I tell him I canceled at the last minute, I never slept with him. We leave the office arm in arm, and I believe we can make this marriage work, I shouldn’t give up so easily when things get hard.
I plan to wear pink lace under my blouse and pencil skirt to work tomorrow. When I come home in the evening, hungry for his touch, I find his mother in my kitchen, cooking his favorite meal, complaining about her son all skin and bones because he doesn’t have a woman who can fry him a good pork chop.
A late response to last week’s Moral Mondays (a new weekly challenge to write a 100-word fable or story based on the moral/lesson provided) prompt: spare the rod, spoil the child.