PRETENDED??!?
It didn’t come to fisticuffs. ;-)
That is because your husband broke through the roof of the cottage late the first night, and, dangling from a steel cable and dressed entirely in black, lowered himself to where he could cover my mouth with one hand, and, drawing his knife, held the blade to my neck with the other hand, and growled quietly "One wrong move with T.O.L. and I will finish this job."
Admit it...you found it somehow...kinda hot...;)
So... You didn't cut yourself shaving after all! I knew it!
At least he didn’t pull a Braveheart on you. Those flails really sting when they cave in your skull.