I knew I was in trouble. My wife had her hands on her hips.
“What are you doing?” she said.
“I’m writing my name on my chair,” I said.
She said nothing, but I knew she was waiting for an explanation, and she wasn’t going to wait much longer.
“Somebody will steal it if it doesn’t have my name on it,” I said.
She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and back again.
“We’ve lived in this house for over 30 years, and you’ve never lost a chair,” she said.
“Mary Margaret, didn’t have her name on her chair and someone took it,” I said.
“Mary Margaret, who the hell is Mary Margaret?” she said.
“She works in Alan’s office,” I said.
“Oh, this is Mary’s chair at her workplace you’re talking about.”
“I work at home sometimes,” I said as I took a rag and wiped my name from the chair.
She audibly exhaled turned and left.
I know how Mary Margaret feels, I thought, and started to cry.