Seeing you take a beating made me realize I love you.

Often I have wanted my spouse to take a beating. Its not that I don't love him but if your married then you understand that every now and then your spouse deserves some type of beat down. Maybe just a smack, maybe a full on ass-whooping. My spouse errs more to the tune of the later. Due to society, (and law), we all control the impulse to inflict bodily harm and try to restrict ourselves to the occasional biting comment, stinging sarcasm or undetected sabotage (For instance, I like to miss-match my husbands socks and/or hide his keys, I know it irritates him, and I like it). Every now and then though, we secretly hope for more. They stub a toe after and argument and we laugh, they crack their head on a cupboard corner and we get a karma induced sense of satisfaction. Don't deny... you know a smile has slipped out when your spouse falls victim to some type non-serious injury, especially after they have made a comment about your thighs or nagged you about the lawn getting mowed.
My problem is that I am married to a 220 pound Marine, and I have never really seen him take a beating. Until now. He is currently training for Cage Fighting, MMA, more specifically Brazilian Ju Jitsu and Muay Thai. Every Tuesday and Thursday he goes for three hours of class, and every Tuesday and Thursday he comes home looking like a gang with baseball bats roughed him up in an alley. At first I thought...well if your dumb enough to take up cage fighting for a hobby you get what you deserve, then I thought ouch that looks like it hurts. Then, much to my surprise, I started to realize I love this man and I don't want him to take a beating....no matter how many times I fall into the unlidded toilet, or have to pick up his nasty socks, or how long the trim in the bathroom takes to get put up, I really don't want him to take a beating. I felt like the Grinch, my cold little rock of a heart that had shriveled three sizes too small, grew and grew. I wanted to go through the sock drawer and correct my wrongs! Hang his keys on the rack and close the cupboard doors, pick up the toys from the hallway that he always trips on. That was... until he told me the meatloaf I made him, with love (because its his favorite meal), was salty and mushy. "Yes Dear, those matchbox cars do hurt when you step on them...I didnt see them there on the other side of the safety gate either , you know two year olds" ...;)