"It's a cold winter night, and my wife and I are alone in the house, binge-watching some new series. I was transfixed by episode one, and gripped by episode two, but midway through episode three I have started to look at my phone, and as a consequence I've lost track of the plot. I have an idea what's going on, but it's not the right idea."
"So hang on, my wife says. Was that just the dead guy? Meaning he's not dead? Um, sure, yeah, I say. You're not even watching, she says. He's the dead guy, I say, now back alive for some reason. On your phone, as usual, she says, looking yourself up. I'm not looking myself up, I say. I'm actually responding to an urgent text from last week."
"The dog walks into the room, sits down in front of my wife and stares up at her with a baleful, pleading expression. But you're missing all the important bits, my wife says. I don't care what happens any more, I say. I just need to know how it ends. The dog reaches out and places a paw on my wife's knee."
A couple spends a cold winter night binge-watching a new series. The narrator loses track of the plot after checking a phone and offers an incorrect interpretation. The wife calls attention to a character presumed dead who may be alive, while criticizing the narrator's lack of attention. A dog enters, fixes its gaze on the wife, and repeatedly places a paw on her knee to insist on something. The couple debates the dog's message—whether it signals bedtime or another need—and negotiate small power shifts and affectionate rivalries between spouse and pet.
Read at www.theguardian.com
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