when she crossed the line* Exactly as expected it would be a snowy Christmas, white and colored bright; (by strict request) I hung her favorite lights about the house, so that the neighbors see together we're a happy family. She'd picked her gift, but what a sour sight when, Christmas day, I didn't get it right. And all was fine until she asked of me β
the last she'd ever ask of me. She tells me "I don't like your underwear." She reels off, "we compromise our comfort" (that bold *****). "I'll be your man, but know my manhood holds. I'll never change my boxer briefs" which feel, in icy weather, warming." Comfort yields.