I called Bridget the other morning from work.
"Yes?" she said tersely.
"I just wanted to call and, you know, apologize for the way I acted when I got home yesterday."
"You mean when you were acting like a d**k?"
I was picking up on subtle verbal cues that signaled that my wife might still be feeling some animosity. I'm intuitive that way.
The evening before I had pulled into the driveway after work and had been greeted by my smiling wife, kids and dogs. A smart guy would have jumped out of his car, grabbed a beverage and enjoyed the Florida evening with his family. I chose a different route when I noticed that my wife had once again parked her car in the middle of our two car driveway, which prevented me from parking my car. I stormed in the house without talking to anyone and made a sandwich.
Still, I didn't think my behavior merited the "D" word.
"I think the word "d**k" is a little strong."
"Really?" She sounded genuinely surprised.
"In all fairness," I replied, "I hadn't eaten all day and I was tired from ten hours of work in the hot Florida sun."
"And that excuses your temper tantrum?"
Now I was a little irritated.
"That was not a temper tantrum. That was a physiological response to adverse environmental conditions."
She didn't say anything so I continued.
"This was more like a seizure. Like, you know, epilepsy - but different."
"In other words, you have dickilepsy."
There was that word again. I formulated a measured, even retort that not only explained my position but let my wife know just how offended her repeated use of that word made me. And then I discarded it.
"Exactly. I have dickilepsy."
"Is there some kind of telethon for that?"
"Nope. Not that I'm aware of. But there should be."