But get this, he was listening to it on his iPad. I'll give you a moment to process that, catch your breath, and decide whether you can continue to view this blog as a reliable source of high-fidelity intel.
I crimped my eyelids into slits and took a good look at him. He appeared to still be the person I walked down the aisle with and said, "I do" to, but how was I to know for sure? I thought about casually plucking 10 to 20 pieces of his hair to run a DNA test, but he and Fuzzy Wuzzy have no hair, which is a sensitive subject for both of them.
Then it hit me. He had not turned on his system for a couple of days, which meant he was probably one-click away from queueing up the slasher music from the shower scene in Psycho.
Normal wives would have asked their audiophiles about the circumstances leading to this bone-chilling, irrational behavior, but The Audiophile's wife is not normal. She quietly backs away from the scene of the crime, slinks up the stairs to her iMac and tap, tap, taps her concerns straight into the worldly wide web.
TAW
