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Lara is a tester. She claims that it’s biological.

Women are testers. We test men all the time. We push them to see how strong they are. If they can stand up to me, they can stand up for me.

That’s the thinking, she claims. I’m not sure I believe her. But she sure as hell does test me. She pushes my buttons to see how I’ll be in that moment. She wants to know: If I get angry enough, would I hurt her, and will I let her walk all over me? It’s a balancing act between two extremes. I have to stand up to her, but I should never be hurtful. I really shouldn’t scream. [sorry baby]

I should be forceful about my opinions and directed in my actions, but I must never ever hurt her. Especially not physically. It’s an agreement we made as a species a long time ago, I think. We much stronger humans will not use our strength to physically harm you weaker ones. It’s a matter of survival. Men need women. Women need men. Some women need women, etc. We are all in this together.

So I let Lara test me. I’m not the best student. She grades me every week.

Ya know, baby, I gotta say, she tilts her head and smiles, you have been wonderful this week. Not too many angry outbursts. It’s been really nice. Her dark eyes sparkle.

I adore her. She is smart and kind. She really wants the best for me. She wants me to be the best a being me. It figures. In the middle of a shit storm, I found true love. That was so very “little Tommy” of me.

Bring on unemployment. I have Lara.

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