I love my country.

I am proud to be an American.

I am ashamed that George W. Bush is an American, but I am proud that I am one.

"You know, we're like Spenser Tracy and Katherine Hepburn."

Lis and I, I mean.

'Cause, for one thing, you've got that "kinda goofy-looking-but-kinda-cute guy" with "stunningly drop-dead gorgeous woman" thing going on.

And then . . .

Well, so, Lis and I are having breakfast. And she looks at the bottle of metheglin between us. And she asks for a glass.

I look at her, look at the bottle, glance over to the cabinet with the glasses, which is marginally closer to her than it is to me, and I roll my eyes. She says, "Fine," and walks over to the cabinet.

She gets the most ridiculous huge glass she can -- a stemmed, footed, and handled Irish coffee mug -- attempts to pull the cork out, managing it only on the fifth try, pours herself a tiny little drop into the bottom of the ridiculous glass, then jams the cork far enough into the bottle that it will likely need tools to get it out.

And, no, she didn't do any of that on purpose to show why I should have just gotten it for her.

You know the sort of old sitcom thing where the husband is left at home to cook, and the whole kitchen blows up in a slapstick humorous way? In several Tracy/Hepburn movies, the same thing happens when SHE tries to take over the cooking from HIM, since HE'S the one who's competent in home-making stuff.

And that's true of us, too.