Picture this: we've all been sick with the flu and germophobe Chris caught the bug last. He stayed home yesterday from work, so I thought, 'Hey, great time to do the wedding invitations!' Chris, being a gentleman to the last, sits quietly on the couch staring at the wall while I fuss and fume at the computer, only barely aware that he is there. His occassional interruptions, "Can I turn on the TV now?" are met with a fierce "NO! You're helping me with the invitations!" Meanwhile, I am furiously balling practice sheets of paper and hurling them all about the living room. Damn printing wizard! And why did we have to get invitations with monogram tags anyway?!?! Finally, four hours later I inform him, "Guess what? We made great progress today! We printed all the invititations and we only have one more address to add to the spreadsheet and then we can run the mail merge and print off all the envelopes!"
"Great," he says, "Can I turn on the TV now?"
He truly is an abused man.