There was a time when my living room was my own. Every now and then the television would actually be turned off, shocking as that may seem.
Tonight is a World Series game. I have been out-voted by a multiple and a nephew. No idea what those odds are.
My wife is perfectly sane in most other areas. I have no idea where this sports thing came from.
So here I sit, in my computer room, otherwise known as The Womb. I’m in here because I can’t stand the noise on the other side of the door.
When we first met, I discovered my wife was a woman of many talents. One of those is whistling. Not the Bing Crosby tuneful whistle. No, this is the `put your fingers in your mouth and blow’ kind of whistle that can shatter eardrums within a half-mile radius. My guitars don’t make noises this loud.
I politely requested she not do that when we were in the same state (under threat of divorce). She must have forgotten – yeah, that’s it.
It’s not that I mind the alone time. Heaven knows the Womb could stand some cleaning (for our tenth year in the house, we celebrated by dusting). And there are certainly a pile of projects that need attention (that I still won’t get to).
I’m kind of afraid for the pets, though. They’re used to weird but nothing could prepare them for Sports. I may not see a new episode of House until next summer.
Have I mentioned that I’m the only one who puts the toilet seat down? If I did not have the correct plumbing, I’d be checking it tonight.