It would bore you terribly, and possibly depress you as well, to hear how long it has taken to arrive at the simple business (one would think) of milady’s suggesting a dinner menu on her way out the door. Nor will I be tedious about dinner preparations (which began with a noontide run to Gristede’s, across the street). I shall say only that, knowing all day what I’d be doing about dinner was colossally liberating, and I want to stress “colossally.”

We sat down to a great summer trio: French potato salad, sautéed corn, and broiled chicken; followed by slices from a small soccer-ball of watermelon. It was bliss. The meal was constructed during respites from Internet work. And vice versa.

After a few bites of chicken, Kathleen pronounced it delicious. “Of course it is,” I replied. “I sprayed it with Yumulon.” Kathleen stopped chewing and glared at me, already feeling poisoned by this deadly additive. I kept my face in order for a moment, but when I saw hers begin to get skeptical, I burst out laughing. “You never know, with you,” Kathleen groaned. I agreed. “There’s no knowing with me, that’s true; but you want to keep your eye on the real world.” Yumulon! It came to me about ten seconds before I said it. You sort of have to believe that somebody tried to sell a product bearing that name, back in the Fifties, when everything was better if it contained plastic.

If Kathleen had called at 9:15 to say that she would be detained, I shouldn’t have minded a bit. I’d have had the whole day of planning for 9:30. The days of not wanting to be pinned down are over; God save the days of being detained. In fact, Kathleen did call at 9:15 — but it was to tell me that she was on her way home.