Friday evening, my doorbell rings. I stay here on the computer while my lovely wife answers the door. Apparently, the conversation at the door went something like this:
Neighbor: Hi, ma'am. My lawnmower won't start and I was wondering if I could borrow yours. Is your husband home?
Lovely Wife: He's here, but you can go ahead and borrow it.
Neighbor: Thanks, but I still have to ask your husband.
Lovely Wife: That's not necessary. You're welcome to use it. (To me: Honey! Open the garage please!)
She told me of the conversation and added that she wondered if he saw her roll her eyes when he persisted that he had to ask me instead of her. Here at Chez Bez, we do things a bit differently. None of that man of the house crap. We are a team. We are equal.
Now if he had wanted to borrow my latest issure of Glamour, that would have been a different story. And my Gilmore Girls tapes don't leave this house. The man has spoken.