The Wench Resolves . . .

. . . to speak to her beloved husband more respectfully and humanely in the coming year.

The Wench did not intend to resolve this. The Wench only intended to lose the extra poundage of lard that clings to her thighs so tenaciously. But then The Wench spent the holiday season listening to various women snapping at their husbands, boyfriends and partners as if they were half-witted puppies, guilty of shitting all over the carpet.

The Wench lost count of the times she witnessed a female scolding her significant (male) other like an incompetent child: "I specifically asked you to do such-and-such . . . did you do it? Why isn't there . . .? Why haven't you . . .?"

It occurs to The Wench that, if the shoe were on the other foot, any male who spoke in the same manner to a female would be accused of bullying, brutishness, and abusiveness.

One cannot expect to be treated with dignity when one addresses one's beloved like a scullery maid. The Wench does not advocate simpering sweetness, nor suffering silence . . . merely civil exchange.