he never said, she never said.

what's wrong, she asks, knowing full well that i don't intend to answer her directly. but she asks because she feels its her duty to attempt adult discourse, even at a time like this. i shrug, i grunt, i play my part to the hilt, the strong-but-silent-type part, the man-who-doesn't-know-how-to-communicate-his-feelings part, because that's my role. she persists on cue, with how she can't help if i don't open up. of course i want to tell her, but i can't, because that's against the rules. after all, if i started sharing my feelings, and speaking directly about our relationship, it would throw off the delicate gender balance that has given stand-up comedians and marriage counselors so many useful jokes in the last hundred years. he doesn't like to talk, ho ho, and he won't tell her how he feels, har har, and the most important thing in his life is football, hee hee. so i have to play my part. order must be kept. i dutifully pull on my mask, tell her that i'm fine, and walk out into the garage, shutting the door behind me.