My “beer for supper” plan was going over like a lead balloon with Maggie, who at this point was practically blocking my path to the refrigerator. I must admit, her strategy of standing there in front of the refrigerator with baby in hand was becoming pretty convincing. “So, exactly what is your problem, Jim?” Maggie was clearly in my face at this point and addressing me as “Jim” was my warning that I was, at this point, standing on some very thin ice.

“I don’t have a problem a few beers won’t solve!” I said, reaching for the refrigerator door.

“Baby, I don’t know what you’re upset about, but drinking beer isn’t going to solve anything. Why don’t you just tell me what’s going on and what happened with Mama Vermillion, and I’m going to make us some supper.” And with that she handed me Layla and said, as she also handed me a beer from the refrigerator, “Here is your beer and, I might add, your only beer!”

Not wanting to fight in front of Layla, I took the offer of compromise and took Layla and put her in the baby seat at the table. I really didn’t even want the beer now.