My husband wouldn't know a "dry drunk" if it perched on his head, but I can guarantee that after a long-slow-serious-discussion about my drinking and *our* relationship on a weekend morning, he can sure swing around into:
what I am doing wrong (looking at him), how I am doing it wrong (by not looking at him), etc.
If I goof up and do the *exasperated sigh* thing (I give, it's a bad recent habit I am trying to (notice) and break); he takes this as a sign life is over, stick nose in the air, all the fun is gone, let's go home and die.
Impervious to stupid jokes, lascivious suggestions, and snarky comments about the unsupervised and very unhappy children in the line ahead of us to check out.
Nope- life is over, and I'm not talking to you.