Louis enjoyed the movie -- one of those lighthearted comedies, the type that his wife deplored as being without substance -- somewhat less than he would have usually. On the drive home he was thoughtful almost to the point of missing a stop sign on one of the back roads behind the theater. He was still moody when he came in the front door.
"Welcome home, sweetie," Angela called from the kitchen. "How was your movie?"
He followed the sound of her washing dishes, grabbing a towel from the shelf to help dry them as he answered. "It was all right. Funny. You wouldn't have liked it."
She wrinkled her nose. "Well, no, I suppose I just don't see physical comedy as being all that funny." Pausing to hand a soapy plate to him, she added, "I mean, if people think that being slapped around is so hilarious, maybe someone should do it to them."
Louis laughed briefly. They both proceeded to work in silence for perhaps a minute, her washing, him drying, until abruptly he said "I'm old, aren't I, Angie."
Angela dropped her hands into the dishwater and sighed. "Of course you're old. You're sixty-seven. I'm old too." She took the towel from him and dried her hands off, giving him a sympathetic look. "Did some college kid treat you like an old granddad again, dear?"
"Ticket seller at the theater gave me my senior citizen discount without my having to ask."
She chuckled. "You know, as consequences of aging go, that's really not that bad."
Smiling a little, Louis replied, "No, when you put it that way, I suppose it isn't."