If the question sounded stale from overuse, at least what enticed it was zingily fresh.
‘Have you,’ asked Rebecca, the wife with whom I do not by and large cohabit, ‘gone completely mad?’
I drained the tumbler, refilled it and despairingly cradled my head. ‘Sweet Lord Jesus,’ I murmured, ‘what is wrong with me?’
Becca wearily raised her brows, as if to suggest the question was far too broad and multifaceted to be addressed in the one sitting. Or, come to that, one lifetime. ‘This