As Dog Is My Witness by JEFFREY COHEN

extremely
forced apologies, and threats of punishment to be carried out at a
later date (and, in all likelihood, forgotten).
    Three hours later, Abby and I were getting ready for
bed. Normally, we start by making the bed, but Abby had been so
edgy about “anyone seeing the way we live,” she had actually made
the bed within an inch of its life that morning. I was having
trouble freeing the sheet from its tight corner—the woman has some
muscle on her.
    I had shed my forty-six layers of clothing, since the
upstairs in our house is almost literally the polar opposite of the
downstairs. If any heating device is used anywhere in the house,
the temperature on our second floor goes up to 106 degrees
Fahrenheit and stays that way until May, when it goes down to 98,
where it stays all summer.
    Personally, I was taking comfort in the fact that
Howard and Andrea were sleeping in our basement, where no matter
how hard the furnace pumps, you can see your breath during the
winter.
    “‘He had it coming?’” Abby said, incredulous. “Our
son bites another child on the hand because he felt his cousin
wasn’t playing a video game correctly, and you say he had it coming ? Please tell me you were joking, Aaron.”
    “All right, so maybe I was exaggerating.” I wasn’t in
a charitable mood. I was contemplating a week’s worth of Howard in
the flesh, we’d barely gotten Ethan under control before Dylan had
rolled out his sleeping bag a foot from Ethan’s bed, and I hadn’t
gotten anywhere with Justin Fowler. Being nice to my brother-in-law
was like sucking in my gut to look more appealing: it had little
effect, and felt so good when I stopped.
    Abby, resplendent in flannel pajamas despite the
tropical climate in our bedroom, wasn’t letting go easily. “That
was no way to get off on the right foot, and you weren’t helping,
Aaron.”
    “Sure I was helping. I stopped Ethan from biting him
again, didn’t I?”
    She started brushing her hair in a way that made it
look so luxuri-ous, I was thinking of moving in and living there
for a while. My wife can soften my mood by diverting my attention,
which isn’t all that hard to do.
    I walked over to her and put my hands on her
shoulders. She stopped brushing, and her hair cascaded onto the
backs of my hands in a very pleasing manner.
    “I don’t want to fight,” I told her, and put my arms
around her back. I kissed Abby and felt her respond. She pulled me
a little closer and kissed back most satisfactorily. So I moved my
hands a little.
    “Aaron,” she said softly, “we have company in
the house.” She moved my hands back. I exhaled and dropped them
entirely.
    “Please tell me you’re kidding,” I said. “Is this the
way it’s going to be for a week—because your brother and his wife
are two floors below us? I hold no illusions about my prowess,
honey. I couldn’t make you scream that loud.”
    We separated and I walked back to my side of the bed,
shaking my head. Another man—one with an ounce of sense—would have
left it at that, but no one has ever accused me of being so
sensible.
    “You know,” I told Abigail, “you’re overreacting to
this whole thing.”
    She sat down on the bed, clearly upset. “I’m
overreacting because we’re not having sex tonight? You’re getting
all testosterone on me, Aaron.”
    I turned to face her. “That’s not what I’m talking
about at all. I barely recognize your behavior today. You’re
putting on a show for your brother about how orderly and organized
a family we are. If it were anyone else, you’d have at least
entertained the possibility that Ethan was provoked, but you
wouldn’t hear it about Dylan, because if you did, you’d be risking
having to tell your brother that he’s not the essence of perfection
he thinks he is.”
    “You think it’s okay for Ethan to bite his cousin
because he didn’t play a video game right? Whose behavior are we
talking about here, Aaron?”
    “Yours,” I said. “I agree that