I was shopping on the busiest shopping day of the year, chagrinned at that but nonetheless determined. I was looking through stacks of old vinyl LP's, looking for certain "modern music" i had heard about on the radio via that American Mavericks show Susanne Vega does. I found some dusty records that looked like what I wanted, including one with a really intriguing fold-out jacket, dark green, heavy, old. Ann passed by and kind of urged me in a non-frantic way to hurry up. On my way up toward the register, some old-ish, vaguely Bukowski-ish guy by some cassettes made a comment to me about my wife being in charge. I said, yeah, I get a perverse kind of thrill out of it.