So I discovered two new routes to my wife's bad side.
First, joke about Oprah's, uh, preference. Second, pooh-pooh her Great Matt Kenseth Conspiracy Theory.
But let me backtrack a little first. Sunday was a rarity for the wife and I: We didn't do a whole lot. I spent my day buried behind my laptop working on the back to school issue, while she culled through a stack of magazines.
Which led to the Oprah problem. Much ado was made last week about Oprah and her pal, Gayle, denying that their relationship was anything more than best friends.
So as my wife perused a couple of copies of Oprah Winfery's O, I used the opportunity to needle her a little bit. I pointed out (for the umpteenth time, my wife reminded me) that Oprah was again on the cover of her magazine and wondered aloud how that meeting with her editorial staff went. ("What should we put on the cover of my magazine this month? I know. Me!")
I tossed in one more shot about Oprah and Gayle - which apparently crossed the line.
I'm sure the bruise will heal, but - on the upshot - I did get to watch the next couple of hours of the British Open in relative silence. Oh, and I'm on permanent restriction from ever reading a copy of O. ("Whatever you do, please, please, Brer Fox, please don't fling me in dat briar patch.")
Anyway, once the golf tournament ended, it was time to switch the channel to my wife's sport of choice: NASCAR. Knowing I was already in-line for a suite in the doghouse, I didn't object. Plus, listening to her commentary about the race, the racers and the announcers is always worth a laugh or two.
You see, my wife firmly believes that there's a worldwide conspiracy against her favorite driver, Matt Kenseth. For example, 16 minutes into the 30 minute pre-race show Sunday and they hadn't talked to the driver who sits less than 100 points behind the current NASCAR points leaders. Then TNT aired profiles of the drivers battling for the last spot in the top 10, and she almost lost it.
Finally at 20 minutes in, and there was a short, short interview with Mr. Kenseth. That threw her into high gear. Tony Stewart's face flashed on the screen: "What a fat slob! Look at him. Naaaasty!" Then Kurt Busch: "Oooooh, he's ugly."
And I promptly spit Diet Coke through my nose.
She then proceeded to take her conspiracy theory even farther: It's not just Matt Kenseth, she said. It's the old "no respect for the good guys" routine. The competitors who can't get the job done in the real world take to whining and bullying to get their way. It's not just NASCAR. It happens everywhere, she said.
Which made me do a double-take. Maybe she's not the kooky conspiracy theorist I thought.
Either way, I need to run. I need to do some suite renovations since I'll probably be in the doghouse for a while after this...