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.”

I think I missed out on the strength part of my German heritage. My (not-remotely-German) husband recently told me I have “spaghetti-arms.” (Jerk. Just cuz I can reach the stuff in the tops of the cupboards and he can’t. ;-) )
I never thought I was freakishly clean or organised, either, until I married him, though. Rethinking that one now . . .
LikeLike
Hey, spaghetti arms are cool! Especially in Germany!
LikeLike
Hilarious!
LikeLike
Thank you, KimKiminy!
I love your name!
LikeLike
Bet you’re singing the Mary Poppins ditty in your head right now…
LikeLike