In the dog house

Dog
Originally uploaded by Joao Abreu.

I'm in the doghouse -- over my post Richmond Calling. Jane's pissed.

You might be wondering how I know, as she's still up north and I've just arrived home.

I know because she sent me a text message... something like "so fucking be with her then" and there's her comment on the post which has the same general message.

It's interesting; she's allowed to have fond memories of Will or any other knucklehead, but I can't have fond memories of anyone else but her. I'm supposed to take my entire (romantic/love/sex) life before I met her and flush it down the toilet.

Let's review the facts:

I've only ever married two women, and Jane is my current wife.

I love Jane.

I may look, but I'm not sampling the merchandise elsewhere.

I had some twenty plus years of sexual activity before we met; and a few of those have provided me with fond memories. A few of them I don't remember at all. And the rest fall in the middle.

I have, even at this young stage of our relationship, fond memories of sex with Jane.

A rich fantasy life supposedly helps marriages.

So what if the Marriott in Richmond reminded me of a night of raw sex. If I returned to Gambier and walked along South Campus and Old Kenyon, I'd be reminded of my losing my proverbial cherry. Or if I went back to where I went to high school and went up the chapel steps, I'd be reminded of the first time I got to second base. All fond memories, but so what. What is of importance is that I'm married, committed to making our marriage and our relationship work. I say, "Jane, get over it. You're it, and this is for the very long haul."

I predict, however, the future: I will remain in the dog house for days after Jane returns. And Jane will not get over it.