The other day I was in one of my melancholy moods (this is an elegant, Victorian way of saying "bitch fests"), so I decided to work out my feelings by haranguing Robbie about a variety topics...including vasectomies, adoption, and the many physical feats performed during childbirth.
By the end of the night, he was sprawled out in bed next to me and I was running through an internal dialogue about the unfairness of being surrounded by three burping, farting boys and no daughters. In an attempt to goad him into yet another venting conversation, I suddenly blurted out, "The thing is, I don't even LIKE men!"
There was a long silence - and then his groggy, muffled voice:
"Is this the beginning of one of those awkward 'coming-out' conversations?"
I laughed so hard I couldn't speak for several minutes. Recognizing this rare opportunity for what it was, he rolled over and fell asleep.