Gazing over my shoulder at an article I was composing on my laptop Mrs B asked, "Why do you keep writing about stupid things other people do? Why not write about the idiotic things you do, you could fill an entire website."
I was truly hurt and asked her to justify such an inflammatory statement.
"Remember the dolphins?" she said pointedly.
Mrs B harboured a lifelong ambition to swim with dolphins so I lined up a trip to Florida where we arrived just before a major hurricane. Being a caring husband I evacuated us from a location where I thought the hurricane might strike to a place where it actually did.
I hurriedly evacuated our posh hotel and checked into a cheap motel 100 miles north which I believed to be a much safer location. After a harrowing journey we finally stumbled into bed at midnight to be awoken at three by floodwater gushing under the door.
Turns out we had an excellence chance of swimming with dolphins in our motel room before the night was over.
"Look it was a simple mistake to make," I told her.
"Unlike the one you made in Mississippi," she replied.
I was running a training seminar for American dog owners and I asked all handlers to place the lead in their right hand and walk around in a big circle so I could assess each dog. After shouting, 'right hand, right hand' a dozen times I singled out one handler who stubbornly held the leash in his left and yelled, "Don't you know the difference between your right hand and left hand?"
"I would," he replied, "If I had a right hand." And proved the point by holding up a withered stump.
"Nice going there," chirped Mrs B. "Humiliating the only one-armed dog handler in Mississippi in front of your entire class." I didn't argue.
Showing no mercy she ridiculed me for the fracas I caused with my in-flight meal on the trip home. Attempting to rip open a pouch of salad dressing I squeezed from the bottom like toothpaste. Suddenly, the pouch punctured sending a jet of dressing arching high above the seat in front onto the beautiful blue bouffant of the lady occupant.
Shrieking like an alley cat she accused me of spilling water onto her bright blue locks which I attempted to defuse by explaining it was only mustard vinaigrette.
To halt Mrs B's embarrassing onslaught I deleted the planned article, did as I was told and submitted this one.
Wives can be so cruel.
The views and opinions expressed in this column are those of the author and do not necessarily represent those of wilmslow.co.uk.