“What’s that smell?” Sue asked from the front hall. “Is that a dead mouse?”

Sometimes I cannot help myself. “Is it?” I said. “I just thought you were cooking dinner.” Some people cannot take a joke. My shoulder still hurts.

“The Fergusons are coming for dinner at 6. I don’t want people to think we have mice in the house.”

“Then let’s tell them it’s a dead squirrel. Ouch! Would you please stop hitting me? I’m still sore from yesterday.”

“I didn’t touch you yesterday.”

“You think you’re the only one who hits me? I ran into Roger and Stacey in the grocery store yesterday and I said, ‘What’s new?’ and she said, ‘We’re trying to have a baby.’ She said it like they were trying to make their own sauerkraut at home.”

“Well, for some people it’s very difficult.”

“I understand that, but for most people, it’s not a Saturday morning chore. I can actually remember a time when you might not tell someone you were trying to have a baby.”

“So she hit you?”

“No, Roger hit me. A friendly little tap on the shoulder. You want to see the bruise?”

“I can remember a time when he’d have hit you in the mouth. Thank goodness one of you has matured.”

“Thank you.”