How To Fight Like a Wife

by Lisa Emmerich

So when he extends a bit of humor or a back massage as a peace offering, I usually take it and drop the quarrel.

Last week, we were in the midst of a familiar spat over working hours. He balked when one of my freelance projects siphoned our weekend family time; I complained that he worked longer than nine-to-five.

He said: “I wish you were home more.”

I said: “I can’t believe you were 20 minutes late. It’s like you don’t even want to see your family any more!”

We meant the same thing.