"OK. Calm down," responded Davis. "This is a classic John Hughes kind of dilemma. You're dating three different women. You like each one equally but for different reasons. Let's really make a Nick Hornsby list and see who you see yourself with in, say, seven years.

He lied there, the beast breathing slowly, and wondered what happened? Where was his wife? Did she do this to him? Why?

At first he couldn't find her. He knew she couldn't be far. He heard something like an animal and turned the corner. There she was, on all fours, loping through the parking lot like a dog or chimpanzee.

Yetis and Unicorns will never stay together long.

"Are you waking up, lover? I'm sorry about your tongue, Sweetie, but I had to take it. Can't have you talking to people about me, can I? I'm a little sad because even though you were always a blowhard, I'll miss our conversations about things. Hold on a sec. You won't feel this except for a little pressure but this thing is really loud."

"I guess I feel lonely. Or alone. I don't feel like we are on the same page as a married couple and I can't figure out why."

He could hardly make himself say it. He sat on the couch—she was just sitting there laughing about a dumb YouTube and the sound of her hoarse giggles was like music—lit up a cigarette—she hated these things but I think I need them right now—and stared hard at her shoes on the floor.