I really am that mean

Some people think all my talk about how mean I am to my husband is pure swagger. It's not. This evening after Thanksgiving dinner we were cleaning and packing (yes, it turns out we are moving) when I found a small squishy bean-filled cloth ball. Scott claimed it was a stress ball and demonstrated by squishing it in his fist. I suppose nervous tics help him deal with stress. I have other methods. I asked him to hand it to me so I could try. He handed it over and I promptly threw it at his solar plexus. In case anyone was wondering, stress balls are wonderful stress relievers. At least for the one doing the throwing. Scott, on the other hand, is still whining about the sore red spot on his belly.