Lut pushed one earpiece of his headset and glanced at me sidelong, not turning away from the game of Left 4 Dead he was playing. "What?"
"This is how much you play that game," I repeated. "I'm having dreams about it."
Monday evening I wandered into the den. Music floated in behind me, playing from the speakers hooked to my iPod in the living room. I dropped a kiss on the top of Lut's head as he was web-browsing.
"Hey there. Whatcha doin'?" he asked.
"Really? I thought you'd be exercising."
"Cleaning counts." I pitched the trash I was holding into the wastepaper basket.
"Not gonna argue with that."
"Hey, do I look stupid to you?"