My family has a little game we like to call “Pout and Guess.”

Typically, there are two players. We’ll use the example of me and boyfriend, Chris. We have been together six months. So far, it’s been smooth sailing.

But then Teacher Appreciation Day rolls around, and Chris does not even text me to say, “Good job on being such a great teacher.”

My colleague’s boyfriend gets her flowers, candy and a trip to Spain.

STAGE 1: “POUTING”

That night, Chris and I are invited to go to a party. I stand alone in the corner and don’t speak to anyone.

Chris notices that I’m not being my usual wonderful, bubbly, gorgeous self. So he begins to guess what’s wrong.

STAGE 2: “GUESSING”

“Is it because my mom came over last weekend unannounced?”

2. “Is it because I said I’d never go sailing with your father again?”

3. “Is this about how I said I’d like to try a threesome? Because you totally misunderstood!”

To each of these questions, I reply, “Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine.” Part of the fun of Pout and Guess is that you don’t TELL the guesser what’s bothering you. You just continue to say, “Nothing’s wrong!” thereby thoroughly confusing them.

Chris guesses and guesses, but he never gets it right. So he starts to enjoy himself again. He forgets that I am pouting.

STAGE 3: “MORE AGGRESSIVE POUTING”

Infuriated, I change my pouting methodology. I resort to that age-old platform for passive aggression: Facebook.

Fellas, just a word to the wise: when your girlfriend posts enigmatic Radiohead lyrics on Facebook like, “The waters break, the waters break, and this time, you’re going to pay…” you should start sleeping with a knife.

But Chris doesn’t even realize anything is wrong. He just likes my status! And then he comments, “Great song.”

I throw my laptop across the room in rage.

If you’re anything like my self righteous and nosy therapist, you might ask:

“What are you expecting to accomplish with this Facebook post?”

Here’s What I’m Expecting to Fucking Accomplish, Dr. Krishnamurthy:

Chris thinks more about my Facebook post. The words play over and over in his mind: “The waters break, the waters break, and this time, you’re going to pay.”

Madly in love with me, desperate to win back my good favor, he begins studying himself to determine what might have displeased me.

He looks farther and farther back. . .

He reads Russian literature in an attempt to “find himself” and become truly worthy of me.

He goes to AA meetings not because he’s an alcoholic, but because his grandfather might have been an alcoholic.

He dedicates his life to racial equality, because he feels deep sorrow and guilt over the fact that his great grandfather fought for the South in the Civil War.

But still, he feels terrible about having hurt me. He cannot eat or sleep.

He does complicated mathematical problems on the wall of his bedroom — designed to help him learn where in our relationship he might have gone wrong!

He grows thinner and thinner. . .

. . .and then one day, he dies.

But back to the real story.

All stories have a climax (well, some fake it — I’m looking at you, Alvin and the Chipmunks: The Squeakquel).

For all my Texas friends…

I know what you’re thinking: “How will she end this enthralling mystery of identity, delusion, and deception? This life affirming play of emotional dexterity? This heart breaking exploration of the human condition?”

I’ll tell you how.

Chris invites me on vacation, and I forget that I am angry.

Dr. Krishnamurthy says I need to learn to have “open, honest and vulnerable” communication with my partner. But fuck that.

Did you expect a life lesson?

Well, I expected Chris to die of grief over my Facebook post. We don’t always get what we expect.

But if there’s a life lesson, this is it:

And this is a picture of me in the Bahamas. #BikiniSeason #FunInTheSun

Chris and I are doing great. But I still keep a travel-sized game of Pout and Guess in my back pocket.

Just in case.