(You arrive home just before 7 o’clock Tuesday night, a full night of sports – Rangers! Yankees! Mets! – ahead of you, and you’ve already got the spot on the couch reserved in your mind, and you fling open the door, greeted by Desmond the Airedale and Fiona the Westy and …
“Hi.”
And Mrs. V, the wife, under the weather and under a blanket with a backlog of PBS shows on the DVR. She hasn’t seen an actor on her television screen in a week. It’s her turn. The TV upstairs is on the fritz.