Last week The Audiophile and I were having a lovely time sitting on the sofa, listening to music, in the dark, like mostly normal people. He leaned into me and whispered, “Did you notice what’s different?” I leaned into him and whispered, “You toed in the speakers a little.” He nodded. I smiled.
After a couple of songs, I quietly stood up to retrieve a little more vino for my glasso and WHAM, exiting stage right was no longer viable in the dark without sacrificing a toe on the side table.
It would seem in addition to toe-ing in the speakers a hair, The Audiophile also moved the sofa over by quite a few hairs making stage right an undesirable route to refill anything except one’s account at the Bank of Profanity.
Since that time, I have regularly wagged my toe of many colors in the direction of The Audiophile thinking he might want to pamper me with tender loving care, but he seems to have directed his attention to the more important matter of putting the sofa back where it was prior to toemageddon even though it probably compromises the sweet spot. A hair.
TAW
