This morning I became an ass. Not to be confused with the ogre’s now infamous sidekick, but an actual ass. As in asshole. I did something that I now regret with the whole of my heart. This morning I made my beloved Artem cry. I made him cry because my insecurity caused a quarrel. It caused a man-fight.
A man-fight is an argument between two men that never stoops to the physical destruction of another. Our man-fights never cause any physical bruising or broken bones. They do cause a tremendous degree of collateral damage. They place a tremendous degree of angst on broken hearts and push the whole of sidelined poker chips with an “all-in” call. “Show ’em,” we’re saying, “I think you’re bluffing.”
But neither one of us is bluffing. And neither one of us is holding cards up a sleeve. Man-fights are raw, unadulterated, impassioned battles. They’re emotional powder kegs blatantly placed beneath a munition depot. They’re horrendous volleys of scarring cannonballs across the bows of our emotional ships.
And yet they never stoop to any physical harm. You see, when we have man-fights we fight because we’re in love. We’re fighting for love; on behalf of love; in honor of love.
Aren’t we, Artem.