Now, not fully ten minutes, her tender arms and hands assert with belligerent animation: pounding pillows, jerking sheets, making and re-making the cheerywood bed with swinging staaccato movements, ignoring the ringing phone.

Her eyes fully transformed red, match her wild hair and pucked lips. And vexed, fully vexed, she speaks twice as fast, like an indignant cackling hen: her glib tongue rambling blind through slippery paths, her guttural German creeping courageously back into her American rage, her gracious spirit long faded.

Fool!

A good five minutes of her erupted fury by now splashed all about him, drenching him like pewk, and yet he has not figured sense of her jabbering.

His presence stands so sternly, so silently, so infuriatingly black, in the eye of her storm that had she not so strongly desired him, she would devour every morsel of his being. Instead, she cackles like an indignat hen, spitting noises, saying nothing. Nothing, at least, he understands. Nothing he wants to understand.

She might have simply said: "Sex is a problem here!" Or "I deserve better ooomph, better bid-a-bam-boom!" Or "Do me more often!" Or "You tossed our only hope into that trash can!" Or "There is more to life than preaching about the good of life!" Or "Dum-dum, look here. See me. I'm here. I have needs; needs other men hunger to feed! This very minute, I don't care if you have have a holy mission to save a reckless world. I am your wife! Your wife!"

But no, she says none of that.

Instead she circles his wagon like an indian rage. She wants advantage. She deserves advantage. And she knows arguing with the best black orator this side of town is a rat's squeak in the mouth of a lions roar. So she circles his wagon with her battle cry.

But a woman's rage is a wild thing. Simmer that rage with unrewarded patience, and, mama-oh-mai-a-meo! Righteous indignation has no better whip.

But some men also have patience. And passion too. When such men are also pure and ready to fight, God ducks.

Ahh! But this is a woman who knows what she wants. That's advantage! Time has promised her nothing. Now is all she has. And she fully intends to change the circumstance of current time. So her battle is about to begin. Clear the tables. Move the chairs. It's about to rain spoons, forks and knives in here!

ENTER_____SPACE
PRIZES AWARDED!