So our house has a little quirk: my office is next to the front door. I generally like this busy spot, but it sometimes makes me seem a little more interruptible than I am. So I have been, at times, interrupted. And I have been, at times, a bit grouchy about this. You know, a bit. So MJ has taken to tiptoeing past the front door in the most guilt-inducing way.
Now this state of affairs could not be allowed to stand. I need to be able to work without feeling like someone is looking over my shoulder from the vestibule, and he needs to be able to come and go. And so it was necessary to develop a strategy.
Here it is: I play stadium rock on my computer and when I sense MJ in the vestibule, I make sure that he hears me singing along.
"Some will win, some will lose. Some were born to sing the bluuuuuuuuuues."
"What. Are. You. Doing."
I can't see him but I can tell from his voice that he is wondering where it says, in the vows we took, that marriage includes tolerating your wife crooning Journey's greatest hits at her laptop on a summer afternoon. He is wondering if he is going to spend his dotage listening to the Jackson Browne Pandora channel. He is, perhaps, rethinking his position on gun control.
"Oh," I say, all wifely, "I am just making sure you don't feel funny on the way out the door." You know, dear.