He looked deeply into his wife’s eyes. She was quiet for once.
They’d had a big fight, but they’d reached a turning point. Peace had reigned
for two weeks, three days, five hours and thirteen minutes.
 
            Maybe he’d been rough on her, but now everything was better. And if
he’d been harsh, well, she’d deserved it. Her eyes held a look of reproach. He
started to get angry, but quickly pushed down his anger and smiled indulgently.
It was just his imagination. No need to ruin a beautiful moment.
 
            He reflected that some people might not agree with all what he had
done, the measures he’d taken, but no one could disagree that those measures
were effective. Society might fool itself with feminist ideas, but when the man
of the house asserted his authority it was really better for everyone,
especially the woman. He knew it in his heart and his mind: his wife had cried
her last tear.

 
            Of course there was give and take, push and pull, no free lunch. On
the one hand, things were peaceful and happy. On the other, she wasn’t quite as
attractive these last couple weeks, and he didn’t like the way she never looked
him straight in the eye anymore.

 
             He swirled the jar a little bit, but her eyes just got more loopy.
 
            Oh well.
 
            He put them back in the cabinet.

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