Bite inhibition

So I didn’t grow up with Passover. Our first year together, the first time I met your family, we were standing in a playground when you told me you were going to Jew me up. I didn’t want to be Jewed up. I was okay with shrugging as I dipped the parsley into saltwater, grimacing at its sullenness. What I thought I didn’t want, for the record, was the child who bled out of me in copious amounts while we just continued to laugh and fuck our way through Southern California. 

This year Passover sucked. You said it was the worst you’d ever had. Bite inhibition, for the uninitiated, is the ability for an animal to control his or her mouthing. It holds back. You didn’t. Tonight I thought about that child. Old enough to drive, graduate, vote. I thought about what we could say to one another but don’t. That, too, is bite inhibition.