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Gotcha!
A fun way to defuse conflict—and get something you want in the process.
by Julie Ferwerda
 1 of 3
I did it again. I made the mistake of asking my husband for help on some annoying glitch that came up one night while I was working on my computer. Wouldn't you know it, he made the mistake of being suckered into rescuing me. Considering our history, we both should have known better than to head down that perilous path.
These "technical support" sessions always ended the same way—heated conflict. I'd ask a simple I-want-a-quick-fix question. He'd roll his chair next to mine and deliver his let-me-tell-you-everything-there-is-to-know-about-computers answer, which would turn into an hour-long help session complete with tips on things such as reformatting my hard drive and over-clocking my CPU.
Teachable as I am, I'd accept graciously his well-meaning suggestions … with bared teeth, crossed arms, and resentful glares. Tuned into my receptive body language, he'd assume a harsh dictatorial tone that would set me off even more.
Unfortunately, this night was no different. After another one of his "help-sessions," we'd worked ourselves into a frenzy reminiscent of a shark feed off the Great Barrier Reef.
"You are so bullheaded!" he finally exploded.
"You're bossy!" I retorted.
"Oh yeah? Well, you just don't appreciate me! If you're going to act like this, you can figure it out yourself!"
"I don't appreciate you demeaning me and treating me like an idiot every time I ask for a little help with my computer! I don't have time to become a certified Microsoft Windows technician."
At the height of our anger, he pulled an uncharacteristic maneuver—he got down on the floor and egged me on, pointing at the carpet. "You wanna take this to the mat?"
I was surprised at this new and unexpected tactic, but knowing he wasn't the type to get out of control physically with his anger, I thought cockily it might feel pretty good to pin his annoying skinny little butt to the carpet.
"Yeah. As a matter of fact, I do!"
We began grappling this latest conflict out on the floor. By the bulging veins in our red faces, gritted teeth, and straining muscles, any bystander might have thought we were in training for the all-star wrestling team, minus the interesting wrestling outfits.
Shortly into battle, with me sitting on top trying to get the upper hand, I pulled back to eye my opponent. We looked so funny, all sweaty and red and mad, that we burst into laughter. Two responsible adults on the floor acting like two year olds fighting over a toy. It was so unpredictable and wacky. It was fun!
All our strength (and anger) instantly vaporized. Rolling onto my back next to him, our roars and cackles resounded through the house. We looked stupid for sure, but we definitely felt better.
When the seizing pain began to recede from our abs enough that we could talk, we sat up on our elbows, grinning sheepishly at each other.
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