Come away with me and I will write you a song, my cell phone croons from the table. I stop what I am doing to answer. "Hello?"

"Good morning, Dear!"

"Nick, it's afternoon."

"I know, but you probably just woke up."

Offended and put out, I negate, "I was cleaning the kitchen!"

Immediately, he becomes defensive. "Oh, because I made dinner last night?" he hisses.

"No! I cleaned the kitchen last night, too."

"Oh," he continues, less edge in his voice, and I swear I can hear him think, "because I ate lunch at home?"

"Pretty much."