Between man and wife, listening is an art form. It is an elusive skill, requiring mental endurance and an air traffic controller’s concentration. (In our house, most conversations are near misses between my mouth and his ears). Moreover, listening requires self control – the word listen contains the same letters as the word silent. My family has no restraint. Usually, we’re too busy interrupting one another to hear what’s being said.  

The man of the house, however, has turned marital listening into an exercise in subterfuge. He has enough rat-cunning to convince me he’s paying attention to my every word, while really, he’s keeping track of the cricket score over my shoulder.