THE RAIN FALLS GENTLY outside but, inside, a hurricane is sweeping the room.
I watch my wife march back and forth. On one of her trips, she tosses a towel at my head. It whacks me in the eye and makes me yelp.
She doesn't apologize.
Not that I really expect her to.
On another one of those trips from the back room to the front, she tosses a polo with the words 'McClane Confectionaries' blazing across it. This time, it smacks my chest rather than my face.
Harriet's fuming but, even in her anger, she's still taking care of me. I'm encouraged by that. There's room to fix this and all it required was losing a bit of my dignity. Standing in the rain while customers pointed cameras and giggled at me is a small price to pay for an audience with my wife.