Late last night The Wife says, “I should get the purple heart for dealing with your ass.”
I say, “You’d get a purple heart if you’d married a Mets fan.”
Touche, she says.
When the Yanks finally won it was after midnight. I was typing away on my computer as she talked to me. She laughed because I wasn’t listening. I heard her laughing but didn’t hear what she was saying because I wasn’t listening.
She announced she was going to bed.
“The wife is exhausted,’ she said. Then, to herself: “Purple heart. And if you don’t give it to me, I’ll give it to myself. I don’t need you to give it to me. That shit is mine, man.”