Combat Duty

When you watch a lot of cable, you notice the movies that are in high rotation. Right now, it's Mr. and Mrs. Smith, with Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie playing a married couple where each discovers the other is secretly a globe-trotting assassin. They spend much of the movie trying to kill each other, only to end up making passionate, hit-man-on-hit-woman love. It's the ultimate in makeup sex, or at least I assume it is. That's because I have never actually had makeup sex, and I doubt I ever will.

This is not to say that Sara and I don't ever fight. We've been together for more than 16 years, and neither of us is a robot, devoid of all feelings, so disagreements are going to happen. It's just that I've known plenty of couples who argue all the time. Some squared off over serious, fundamental issues and more often than not, those relationships have ended. But other couples bicker over little things like which TV show to watch or how often they'll eat out. For this second group, the dust-ups seem to add spark, counteract boredom, and create occasions for makeup sex.

From what I've been told by friends, post-argument sex is a spectacular rechanneling of the negative emotions both partners were feeling earlier. To me, it sounds like a Jacuzzi: Sure, it always feels good to slip into a hot tub, but it feels even better if you've spent several hours working out and your muscles are screaming. The thing is, my domestic deltoids don't respond to that kind of treatment.

More than a decade ago, I was so curious about whether my then-fiancee Sara and I were missing out on fight-fueled fun that I went to her and suggested, "Let's have an argument." We had never had a true blowout during our dating years, and since we were living together and ready to commit to a lifetime of togetherness, I figured we could – nay, should – kick the tires. Sara thought I was being ridiculous and asked, "What would we fight about?"

Ignoring the time-honored advice about how to treat sleeping dogs, I proceeded intentionally to lay out several gripes. "What if I said you snore?" I asked. "What if I told you I wanted to go out drinking with the guys more often?" Then I tried: "Your hair always clogs up the shower drain!" None of these worked to get a rise out of her. In fact, Sara laughed at the idea that any of these petty things could possibly start a fight. So I tried one more time – and I hit the jackpot. Even a decade later, I'm not foolish enough to repeat what I said here, because Sara stopped laughing immediately and asked me, "Why would we fight about that?"

The next three hours are a blur. I remember yelling and crying and doors slamming. My comment ended up being the start of an acrimonious journey through every little thing we had been "too mature" to fight about over the previous few months. We were awful to each other. In the end, she retired to the bedroom, I sat in the kitchen, and we both cooled off for an hour or more.

There was no doubt the fight was my fault. I had quite literally started it. But by the time we were able to speak again, we realized each of us had made plenty of valid albeit cruel points. We were both right, both wrong, and both really sorry.

In the movies, this would have been the cue for us to kiss, head to the bedroom, and make up until the neighbors complained. But we must have lost that page of the script, because this wasn't sexy. We just sat together, shellshocked. Neither of us felt that the fight had invigorated our relationship. It felt a lot more like it had almost ended it. The only thing we really got out of it was a realization that we should probably talk out all those little things before they build up.

Since then, we've had our arguments, but I have never again looked to leverage them into passion. As long as we never have to have break-up sex, I think I can live the rest of my life without makeup sex.

Shawn Peters lives in Metro West. Send comments to coupling@globe.com.