It was late on an autumn Saturday morning in the MidAtlantic, and I was cleaning my apartment. I was frustrated by its condition — and by the pointless fight I was in with my girlfriend, Alicia.
She was a 5’2”, 110-pound, brown-haired, blue-eyed Irish spitfire. Her spirit made for an adventurous relationship inside and outside the bedroom, but sometimes her spirit turned into a raging, angry banshee — sometimes for good reason, and like now, sometimes for no obvious reason.