GRRRI was abruptly awoken by a PMS day. The slamming drawers, mumbled expletives, and general frustrations of Richter magnitude rattling out of our bathroom were a dead giveaway that Jane would soon be blessed again with the crimson gift of womanhood.

She’s an early bird who gets more done before I wake up in the morning than I get done all day and this day was no different. Jane had been up for some time, was dressed, and ready to take our Golden Retriever for a walk. Her aggravation crescendo had plenty of lead time before it hit my slumbering radar.

The sun was barely up, there was a fresh blanket of snow outside with flakes still falling, and it was bitter cold. We live in a quiet suburban neighborhood near parks and the tranquility of this scene on a weekend morning is quite calming. Assuming, of course, you’re in the mood to soak it all in.

Jane was headed out of the room when I stopped her with a suggestion that should have shortened my life considerably but, surprisingly, I’m still here to tell you about it. Still warm and cozy with my naked self wrapped in fleece sheets and a down comforter, I said, “Dear… before you leave, maybe you should come over here and touch the Lucky Penis”.

Yes, that’s what I said and no, I wasn’t drunk. I assumed a defensive posture and waited.

Jane laughed one of those breathy laughs of disbelief, like she was laughing at herself for ever saying “yes” to that moron she used to date… and then she walked over to my side of the bed with a smile on her face to play with my dick.

That broke the ice on a frigid day.

When she came back in from the cold she was greeted by hot coffee and and fire in the fireplace. The kids were still asleep and we sat by the flickering fire to talk about her morning, our day ahead, and how truly lucky my penis is.

She went on to have a good day in a great mood, we laughed and loved together with no sign of trouble.

It shouldn’t have worked, but it did.