It's started

A man came home from work, sat down in his favorite chair, turned on the TV, and said to his wife "Quick, bring me a beer before it starts".
She looked a little puzzled, but brought him a beer. When he finished it, he said, "Quick, bring me another beer. It's gonna start."
This time she looked a little angry, but brought him a beer.
When it was gone, he said, "Quick, get me another beer before it starts."
"That's it!" She blows her top, "You bastard! You waltz in here, flop your fat ass down, don't even say hello to me and then expect me to run around like your slave getting you beer after beer. Don't you realize that I cook and clean and wash and iron all day long??"
The husband sighed. "Oh shit, it's started.

Celibacy, choice or unintended effect

Celibacy can be a choice in life, or it can be an unintended effect of a seemingly innocent encounter.
While attending a marriage encounter weekend, Walter and his wife, Ann, listened to the instructor declare; "It is essential that husbands and wives know the things that are important to each other."
He addressed the men; "For example, can you name your wife's favorite flower?"
Walter leaned over, touched Ann's arm gently and whispered; "It's Robin Hood All-purpose, isn't it?"
And thus began Walter's life of unintended celibacy .

Divorce letter

>Dear Connie,
>I know the counsellor said we shouldn't contact each
>other during our "cooling off" period, but I couldn't
>wait anymore.  The day you left, I swore I'd never
>talk to you again. But that was just the wounded
>little boy in me talking.  Still, I never wanted to be
>the first one to make contact.  In my fantasies, it
>was always you who would come crawling back to me.  I
>guess my pride needed that.  But now I see that my
>pride's cost me a lot of things.  I'm tired of
>pretending I don't miss you.  I don't care about
>looking bad anymore.  I don't care who makes the first
>move as long  as one of us does.
>Maybe it's time we let our hearts speak as loudly as
>our  hurt. And this is what my heart says: "There's no
>one like you, Connie."  I look for
>you in the eyes and breasts of every woman I see, but
>they're not you.  They're not even close.  Two weeks
>ago, I met this girl at Flamingos
>and brought her home with me.  I don't say this to
>hurt you, but just to illustrate the depth of my
>She was young, maybe 19, with one of those perfect
>bodies that only youth and maybe a childhood spent ice
>skating can give you. I  mean,
>just a perfect body.  Tits like you wouldn't believe
>and an ass that just wouldn't quit. Every man's dream,
>right?  But as I sat on the couch
>being blown by this stunner, I thought, look at the
>stuff we've made important in our lives. It's all so
>What does a perfect body mean?  Does it make her
>better in bed? Well, in this case, yes, but you see
>what I'm getting at.  Does it make her a better
>person?  Does she have a better heart than my
>moderately attractive Connie? I doubt it.  And I'd
>never really thought of that before.
>I don't know, maybe I'm just growing up a little.
>Later, after I'd tossed her about a half a pint of
>throat yogurt, I found myself thinking, "Why do I feel
>so drained and empty?"  It wasn't just her flawless
>technique or her slutty, shameless hunger, but
>something else.  Some nagging feeling of loss.  Why
>did it  feel so incomplete?  And then it hit me.  It
>didn't feel the  same because you weren't there to
>watch. Do you know what I  mean?  Nothing feels the
>same without you. Jesus, Connie, I'm just  going crazy
>without you. And everything I do just  reminds me of
>Do you remember Carol, that single mom we met at the
>Holiday Inn lounge last year?  Well, she dropped by
>last week with a pan of lasagna. She said she figured
>I wasn't eating right without a woman around. I didn't
>know what she meant till later, but that's not  the
>real story.
>Anyway, we had a few glasses of wine and the next
>thing you know, we're banging away in our old bedroom.
>And this tart's a total monster in
>the sack.  She's giving me everything, you know,  like
>a real woman does when she's not hung up about her
>weight or her  career and whether the kids can hear
>us. And all of a sudden, she spots that tilting mirror
>on your grandmother's old vanity.  So she puts  it on
>the floor and we straddle it, right, so we can watch
>ourselves.  And it's totally hot, but it makes me sad,
>too.  Cause I can't help  thinking, "Why didn't Connie
>put the mirror on the floor?   We've had this old
>vanity for what, 14 years, and we never used it as a
>sex toy."
>Saturday, your sister drops by with my copy of the
>restraining order.  I mean, Vicky's just a kid and
>all, but she's got a pretty good head on
>her shoulders and she's been a real friend to me
>during this painful time. She's given me lots of good
>advice about you and about women in
>general. She's pulling for us to get back together,
>Connie, she really is.  So we're doing Jell-O shots in
>a hot bubble bath and talking about happier times.
>Here's this teenage girl with the same DNA as you and
>all I can do is think of how much she looked like  you
>when you were 18.
>And that just about makes me cry.
>And then it turns out Vicky's really into the whole
>anal thing, that gets me to thinking about how many
>times I pressured you about trying it and how that
>probably fuelled some of the bitterness between us.
>But do you see how even then, when I'm thrusting
>inside your baby sister's
>cinnamon ring, all I can do is think of  you?  It's
>true, Connie.  In your heart you must know  it.  Don't
>you think we could start over?  Just wipe out all  the
>grievances away and start fresh? I think we can.
>If you feel the same please, please, please let me
>Otherwise, can you let me know where the fucking
>remote is.
>Love,  Dan