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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.”