The Redhead was at the coffee table looking at some ads in the paper. From the kitchen, where I am king, I asked her what she wanted for dinner. I am the cook. She is the diner.

"Why don't you just go down to Spud and get us some fish and chips? That way the kitchen will stay clean."

That's one of her things. I do the kitchen chores. But when it is clean, she wants it to always be that way, like in a magazine photo.

"I don't want to spend the money," I countered. "Besides, I can whip up a Bolognese in no time."

"Uhh," she said. I don't really know what that means. But I hear it a lot. It is her stock answer to a lot of questions.

So I said "What do you mean?" You don't like Bolognese? I have some nice Italian sausage, a good sauce, a beautiful yellow onion…"

"Pasta," she interrupted without looking up.

"Pasta? Yes, the sauce goes on penne. You know. Those short wide tubes."

"That's what I'm talking about. Pasta isn't good for you. Aren't you the one who told me about 'Wheat Belly?

"Yes. I'm the one. But I'm not ready to believe it. I need more evidence."

"Look in the mirror," she said.

"That's harsh. Rome wasn't unbuilt in a day." I figured I better take another tack. "How 'bout of I put the sauce on quinoa?"

"That's fine", she said in her best Honeymooner's voice. And then, "Maybe there is something on the Food Channel I'd like."

Me: " I can't switch to the Food Channel while Tiger Woods is 13-under and some rookie is hot on his trail on the last hole!"

Her: "Is that what all your yelling is about? I thought you might have sliced off the tip of your index finger when looking up at someone putting."

"Yeah. I want Tiger to win. He is a the greatest player ever and an inspiration to guys like me."

"Oh. You mean because he was unfaithful to his wife?"

"Of course I don't mean that. What fool would admit his admiration for someone like that?"

"What do you mean then?"

"I mean, I wish I could hit a perfect golf shot like Tiger."

"Or do you think you might be able to attract a cute blonde if you were a better golfer?"

"No! I don't even want a homely blonde. I like redheads."

"So you think I'm homely?"

"That's not what I meant."

"So, if Tiger doesn't win, are you going to grump around for the rest of the day like you usually do when your hero loses a golf match?"

"What? I don't grump around. I become contemplative and think about how I would have handled the golf match myself."

"How is it that you can give so much thought energy to a golf match you are not in and so little to world problems?"

"What world problems?"

"The front lawn, for one. It needs to be cut. The gutters, the spot on the back door where the paint is peeling, the shoe rack you said you were going to put up weeks ago…shall I go on?"

"I'll go on, down to Spud to get you something to eat. Just as soon as the golf match is over…"