One evening, not long after the honeymoon, Bob was tinkering in the garage, fine-tuning his Harley motorcycle. His new wife leaned casually against the workbench, watching him with an unreadable expression.
After a long stretch of silence, she broke it. “Honey,” she began tentatively, “I’ve been thinking. Now that we’re married, maybe it’s time you spent less time out here in the garage.”
Bob glanced up, a wrench in hand, but said nothing.
She continued, her tone growing more confident. “I mean, you might consider selling the Harley. It’s such a time drain. And the welding equipment? Do you really need all of it? It’s just taking up space.”
Bob raised an eyebrow but stayed quiet.
“And the gun collection,” she added, “and all that fishing gear. Honestly, do you even use those things? The boat too—it’s such a money pit. And those silly model airplanes cluttering up the spare room? You don’t have time for them. Oh, and the homebrewing setup? You could free up so much space if you got rid of it.”
Bob’s jaw tightened as he put the wrench down.
“And that old sports car—what’s the point of keeping it? You hardly even drive it.”
Bob froze, his face contorting in a mix of disbelief and horror.
His wife noticed and frowned. “Darling, are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
He turned to her slowly, his voice unsteady. “You… you’re starting to sound like my ex-wife.”
Her eyes widened in shock. “Ex-wife!” she exclaimed. “You never told me you were married before!”
Bob took a deep breath and muttered, “I wasn’t…”