Like many young, amorous couples, my wife and I engage in the occasional tickle fight. You know — a bit of the ol’ “Slap and Tickle” — though, as a German-American couple, we most often refer to these encounters as “World War III.”
Our tickle fights involve a lot of wrist grabs, leg locks and general vying for physical dominance. And, as a man, I naturally expect to triumph over my wife with laughable ease; I should have complete and effortless control over these struggles — using a clearly restrained amount of force to succeed — but this is not the case. I actually have to try to win, and I have to try hard — but not too hard, you see; I would never forgive myself if I accidentally injured my little Frau.
And this is why, during a particularly intense World War III on our couch back in February of 2012, I warned my wife not to struggle too hard. She relaxed, releasing her thighs from the vice-like grip they held around my abdomen, and offered a theatrical sigh:
THE WIFE: “You are right. I should not use all my strength. I don’t want to hurt you.”