This is getting hard. When you know you want to leave — indeed, are trolling for apartments on craigslist — spending time as a couple with extended family members is unbearable.

Rob and I haven't told anyone in our families about our troubles, and we haven't called off our standing weekly dinner with some of our closer family members. This is a gathering we host, so to call it off, we'd need a good explanation. Like the truth. Until we can bring ourselves to be honest with everyone, we entertain as if nothing were amiss.

At last week's dinner, our typical good-spirited attempt at cooperation completely broke down. As family members sat contentedly in the living room, sipping wine and enjoying appetizers, we were seething at each other over the pot roast in the kitchen, screaming in whisper.

Okay, we've all been there, secretly fighting with our mate behind closed doors but in front of our guests acting as if the world couldn't be more right.

But during this argument, something shifted. This time I didn't care about appearances. This time, I could have cared less if anyone heard. Maybe I even raised my voice a bit so they could.

It was if my subconscious were surfacing, compelling me toward honesty. Maybe the pressure of lying is getting too much? Maybe it's time to spill the beans?