I was watching a movie downstairs in our rec-room when my wife, Daisy, came down. She was barefoot wearing a tank top and cut-off jean shorts. She had her cell phone in hand.

After pausing the movie, I said, "No."

Daisy looked startled, "What?"

I picked-up my cell phone, "I saw the email. I don't want to go."

Daisy said, "But..."

"I saw who all's gonna be there," I said, "I still don't want to go."

"Don't be..."

"I'm NOT being a stick in the mud, sweetheart," I said.

She huffed impatiently.

"We went to one of these things last weekend," I said, "I want to stay HOME this weekend."

"You're being..."

"I'm NOT being unreasonable."

"STOP IT!" She said.

"What?" I said.

"Finishing my sentences for me," Daisy said, "You don't know what I was gonna say."

"Oh, no?" I said, "So you WEREN'T gonna say it's a big deal to be invited to THIS ta-do? That Betsy and Bob host the BEST of the best parties, and always invite the NICEST people? You weren't gonna say Chris and Margaret are gonna be there? Because you KNOW I get along with Margaret and that she likes me."

She groaned melodramatically, "Ugh, Whoopsie... you're impossible!"

"I'm right though... right?"

Daisy looked at her phone instead of answering.

I said, "YOU like these things WAY more than I do, sweetheart."

"It's because I'm an Extrovert and you're an Introvert."

"No," I said, "It's because you'll take it in the ass."

"Whoopsie!" She said - acting shocked.

"What?" I said - scoffing at her feigned affrontage, "It's true. That's why we've been invited - because YOU do anal."

Daisy said, "You're such an asshole."

"Fine... prove me wrong. We go to this event but you DON'T take it in the ass. Say your proctologist warned you off anal sex or something. You see how quick we get blackballed."

She looked at me - hands on her hips.

"You willing to make a bet? Take that chance?"

"No," She said - reluctantly, after a second's hesitation.

"That's what I thought," I said, "These people aren't your friends, sweetheart."

She started tearing-up, wiping at her cheeks angrily. Goddammit. I fucking HATE that. Tears = instant argument ender. I can't keep arguing with her when she's crying - even if I'm right. Hell... ESPECIALLY if I'm right. I'm such a softy. I feel bad when she's crying. Only thing that'll end an argument quicker is if she pulls her tits out and flashes me. But THAT'S because my lips stop working and my IQ drops 60pts. I'm all: "BuBu-Bu-Buh-Huh-Huh-BuHu-Boobies..." and lean-in to MotorBoat her. It's my Kryptonite.

This time *I* groaned melodramatically, "Ugh. Okay... fine! We can go."

She squealed with excitement and did a little hop-around sorta dance, making her tits flounce and bounce around. She rushed over and hugged me enthusiastically.

"Okay-okay," I said, patting her arm that was choking me, "I have a condition though."

She sat - dropping down onto the cushion facing me - looking wary, "What?"

"Anal only," I said, "Anybody and everybody who fucks you has gotta use your ass."

"Whoopsie!" She stood-up, took three steps away and turned back to look at me, "That's..."

"You want I should go to this thing? That's my stipulation," I said, "Anybody and everybody who wants to fuck you has got to fuck you in the ass, and... I get to go last. After everyone else has gone and you're all good and loose, stretched-out and sore... that's when I get to fuck you."

It took the wind out of her sails a bit. She stood there looking at me, but I could see the gears turning in her head.

"Yes or no?" I said, "You want to go to this thing? How badly do you want to go? You say YES, you embrace the reason we've been invited and submit yourself to being everyone's butt slut."

Daisy turned her gaze to look-out the sliding patio door towards our hot tub under the deck and the backyard beyond it. She sighed, "God... you're such an asshole."

"It's not MY asshole that's gonna get wrecked," I said.

She turned her attention back to me, then looked down at her phone and started texting.

I sat there and waited for her to finish.

She looked-up and put her cell phone in her back pocket.

I said, "Well?"

"I just RSVP'd," She said, "Told them we'd be there Saturday afternoon."

"Okay," I said, "Not Friday afternoon?"

Daisy shook her head, "No... that's too much. Reckon I could handle getting wrecked ONE night, not two."

Ha! "Reckon..." She falls back on her folksy MidWestern roots when she's feeling threatened or intimidated, fronting confidence she doesn't necessarily have. I looked at her.

"What?" She said.

I said, "I didn't expect you'd agree. You REALLY want to go to this thing."

"Yeah..." She said, "You betcha!"