Christina wants to watch Marie Antoinette. She knows that I am lukewarm on Sofia Coppola, and so she sounds guilty when she asks if it’s ok if she’s kicking me out of the living.
“It’s cool,” I say. “It’s just as much your living room as it is mine.”
“I don’t know why I feel bad,” she says. “I let you watch all the football you want.”
“You’re supposed to like football.”
“You’re supposed to like this.”
Well played, wife. Well played.