I sat in the chair, tv tray in front of me, laptop perched on it, waiting to be touched. I thought many fine thoughts. The fingers did not hit the keys.

You stared at me from the couch. You drummed your fingers on the table, daring me to type something. I wanted to. You wanted me to.

I wanted to because I thought I had something to say. You wanted me to so you could tell me that I suck.

When are we ever going to have a truce on this stuff?