Shortly after we were married I introduced my husband to The Contract.  The introduction was something like this…

Him – “You’re not being very nice”

Me – “I don’t have to be nice. It’s not in the contract.”

Him – “What contract?”

Me – “The contract you agreed to when you married me.”

Him – “I don’t remember any contract.”

Me – “Doesn’t matter.  You agreed.”

Solid logic on my part, befuddlement on his.  Actually, if you get the impression that my partner spends a lot of time smiling and nodding at the appropriate places you would probably be correct.  The contract is a wonderful thing.  I pull it out at will and it is always to my advantage.  As the contract is in my head it changes to suit situation and need.  More often than not it is used as a reminder that I do not have to be nice, follow instruction, or not ruin his jokes.  I do not have to compromise, run on any schedule but my own, or admit when I am wrong (which is never because that would be Rule One).  I have a similarly convient contract for my children.  The contract for them requires me to attempt to get them to adulthood in one piece.  There is nothing in there that says I have to be nice, accommodating, or fair.