I've said before, Husband is the authority figure in the house. He has veto power over just about everything. But when it comes to the running of the house and the everyday kids stuff, he rarely uses his veto power to go against me, because 99% of the time, he leaves that stuff to me.
Of that 1%, when he does he put his foot down and counters my decision or objects to my behavior, a significant majority of the time, I give in. This is not because I'm afraid to argue with him (NO) or because I feel too "beat down" to raise my voice (HELL NO). It's because, as I listen to his reasoning, I realize he is right.
Which leaves a tiny number of times when he objects to my way of thinking or doing something, and I think he is flat out wrong for going against my opinion/decision. When that happens...sparks fly around here.
(Before you start imagining scenes from COPS, officers called in to break up a domestic dispute where they walk in on a food fight in progress between husband and wife both coated in thrown eggs and flour and the husband yelling "she took mah remote! Hor!" And the wife screaming back "mah momma gave us that thar tee vee ya son of a beech!" And the cops trying very hard to break it up just so they don't have to arrest anybody and thereby touch them, let me tell you, we do NOT get all crazy when we argue. We raise our voices, but we do not scream. We do not swear. We do not lose control. We act like two adult who love each other having a difference of opinion.)
I am a sub, but I am NOT a doormat. There is a line separating the two, and woe betide Husband when he crosses it. He knows he is in trouble, because I don't just stay mad: I get vengeful. But a vengeful SAM is also a playful one.
Here are some of the ways I have gotten "playful" with Husband in the past:
- I have sewn flowers, hearts, swirls, and even messages into his clothes. One time I took his favorite pair of pants and crocheted "I like ponies" into them. In pink. Another time I took his last pair of "weekend" pants--you know, the pants you wear just on the weekends cause they're all stained and ripped and you like 'em like that--and sewed yellow flowers all over them, even the butt. He had to wear them on a run to the supermarket. As my son would say, it was epic.
- I've sewn shut all the fly openings in his boxer shorts. I mean every single damn pair. So every time he went pee, he thought of me.
- I've taken all the blades out of his electric razor, so it takes him a while to figure out why "the fucking thing's not working" why there's still stubble on his face.
- I've moved his phone. Keyword being moved, not hidden. It was still in plain sight. Just not where he left it. And again. And again.
- I've dyed his socks pink. "By accident," of course. I kinda "forgot" that brand new shirt I just bought might bleed into the wash, and yes, all his socks did need washing, all at the same time.
- I've taken all the towels out of the bathroom...while he was in the shower. Oh, and the soap. And shampoo.
- I've polished his toe nails while he slept. A nice shiny silver color, too. I've never worn that polish on myself, though--too sparkly.
- I've moved all the cards around his wallet (and if you're anything like Husband, you have every damn credit card in its rightful spot, and freak out should a single card move places).
- I've taken one shoe of a pair, and put away in the closet. But just one. Cause if one shoe's sitting in the corner of the room, the other one's got to be around there somewhere, right? I mean, why would one be sitting out there and one be somewhere else? I wonder!
- I've sprayed my perfume on his shirts, so he smells all nice and, according to Victoria's Secret, Divine.
When I start getting playful, he knows he's in trouble. He knows he's hurt me, badly, and needs to make amends. He also knows until he does, he may just be walking around with pink socks and sewn-shut boxer shorts.
We always do make up, in the end. But he remembers: a SAM wife has ways of getting even, too.