I was wondering the same thing. In the last 30 years, there has been one instance of aggression toward me. What kind of people are you hanging out with, Grizz? And why?
Not fights, per se… more like altercations.
I seem to attract more than my fair share.
Let me point out that I’m a big fellow. Football lineman type; weight-room rat. Usually not the kind that others like to see angry. At least, that’s the outward appearance that I like to project. A man to be reckoned with.
For instance…(this happened not less than one week ago. The whole incident was over in a few seconds).
I took my four-year-old son to Wal-Mart (please, spare me the evil Wal-Mart empire berating). The time is about 830pm, so it’s dark out.
Being the safety-conscious father that I am, he sits in a HUGE carseat with a five-point harness; so I have to come around to the passenger-side of my truck to unbuckle the harness.
I park, get out of my side of the truck and am circling 'round the back part of my truck to let the GrizzCub out. The car beside me has two teenagers getting into it and one brandishes a pistol in his right hand and it’s aims in the general direction of my boy.
:eek: :mad:
Not on MY watch!
I rush his cardoor and slam it against his arm. The teenager is inside the car and his right forearm is pinned between the car and door. I lean onto the door and grab his gunhand and bend it backward. His hand opens and he drops the gun.
It’s a pellet gun that’s a replica of a .45.
He’s screaming because his arm is bent backward at the shoulder. His buddy in the driver’s seat does absolutely nothing because (I think) he’s just so freaked out.
Now comes the ‘explaining’ part of things.
Once I realize my mistake (MY mistake?!?!); I make sure that the kid’s all right. I check on GrizzCub. He was unaware anything had gone wrong until I opened the passenger-side door of my truck and asked if he was okay. I let him stay in his carseat while I call the local constabulary on my cellphone because, well I just want to cover my hiney.
The teenagers didn’t want any of that noise, so they beat it out of the parking lot in a beige four-door Valiant with no hubcaps and a loud muffler. Oh yeah, I got the license plate number too. And the gun, too. (Cops have it now)
The cops arrive and I told them my story. They tell me that they’ll check this out. What that’s going to entail, I don’t know. I have a slight fear that I’m going to get a letter from a personal-injury attorney; but I doubt that’ll happen. Those two were too nervous about having to explain this to the police. I"m thinking it’s not the first time that they’ve done this.
This could easily have gone VERY WRONG for those boys had they pointed that gun at an off-duty cop!
The worst part recently is answering my son when he asks “Why did you hit that man at Wal-Mart?” I keep telling him that I didn’t hit anybody; I just banged his arm in his cardoor.
This has to be one of the most extreme case of “What the F**k just happened” to me. Just so happens that it was fairly recent and I ran across this thread yesterday.
I don’t tell my girlfriend how much she snores. I assume that I do, and on the rare occassions (and I do mean rare - I usually sleep like a log) that I am awake and she’s not, I just figure it’s OK that she doesn’t know that.
I also don’t tell her how much more the cats like me than her. That would be just cruel, considering they are her cats! 
I cant think of anything I wouldn’t dare tell my man, but I guess theres a lot of stuff I don’t cos it’s non-productive, like having stupid thoughts about myself. It doesn’t serve any purpose for him to know every insecurity I have, and if it gets to the level when it actually upsets me then he instinctively knows anyway.
So do you know (or care) how many it’s been for him? And do you think maybe he’s just secretly worried that your number will be bigger than his (uh, no pun intended)? 
I should think it would be more flattering to anyone to be the best out of [whatever your number of lovers is, the higher the better] than to be the only person you’ve ever slept with because then how do you know if you’re really any good . . . ?
As for the OP . . . my husband doesn’t know that I’m not wearing any pants right now. 
I honestly don’t think there is anything I wouldn’t dare tell him. racks brain. No, nothing.
I must be strange or something.