There's a couple I know who fight constantly. Not in an entertaining Chuck Norris kind of way, either. It's like a cringier version of Married with Children. (Although now seems a great time to tell you my favourite Chuckism: Some people wear Superman pyjamas… Superman wears Chuck Norris pyjamas. Which
is closely followed by my second favourite: Chuck Norris doesn't wear condoms … because there's no such thing as protection from Chuck Norris.)
Anyways, after a tiff (or, as I like to call it, yelling tennis), they go off and sulk in separate rooms. Her taking the opportunity to go willy-nilly with the CC on Shopbop.com, and him holed up with his video games. But to them I say: make love, not Warcraft! Because if make-up sex isn't the greatest type of fornication known to humankind, then, by gum, Leonardo DiCaprio isn't a pants man. Sometimes I even start duels with hot strangers on the street on the off chance that it might lead to aforementioned relations.
To be honest, I'm surprised the dishy barman at the pub down the road has yet to take out a restraining order… But my point is, reconciliation sex: amazing.
Of course, if placating your troubles with sex was a viable and effective option, Lindsay Lohan would have done the horizontal hokey-pokey with the People of the State of California many moons ago. Unfortunately, that's called "prostitution" and is widely looked down upon in many circles. No, make-up sex isn't about problem solving - it's about reconnection. It's about the amalgamation of the mind and the body. It's about the only time you know your man will put in 110 per cent, because he wants to prove he is, indeed, the man - and apparently needs to embody an erroneous and clichéd sports statistic to prove it!
The reason for this awesomeness is twofold. Firstly, all the heat of the argument
is manifest in physical form (really, if Julia Gillard could figure out how to trap the thermal energy from Aussie couples patching up their differences, the carbon tax would be all but redundant). Secondly, you've quite literally pounded out your frustrations. You suddenly feel more bonded to your partner than Bondi Vet to a remake of a Bond film featuring dogs wearing Bonds underwear. One plus two … well, that equals business time.
But that's not even the best bit. No, that's embroiled in the aftermath - when he's feeling equal parts vulnerable and emotionally dominant because not only did he say his piece during the fight, he got to wield his piece after the fight! Any queries you make at this point will be absorbed faster than a post-hypnotic suggestion, making it the perfect time for you to pounce on notions he might otherwise recoil at, such as: "So, can we take down that picture of your ex now?" and, "My lease is coming up … when are we moving in together?" He's all like, "I can haz cheeseburger?" And you're all like, "Great, I'll go right ahead and book that holiday then." It's win-win. And even he'd have to agree - not even the world's most rousing game of Warcraft could beat that.