'Your hair doesn't smell', I tried to reassure her.
'It does, it does', she screamed, 'Smell it'.
I did.... It didn't smell.
'I can't smell anything', I said.
'Don't tell me it doesn't smell!', she screamed, 'I am not a baby! I know it smells!'.
'Who told you it smells ?', I asked.
'Martin', she shouted. Martin is our 9-year-old son.
'Oh', I said, 'Your hair must smell then'.
'And look at my eyebrows', she shouted, 'They've fallen out! It's all your fault. The stress you put me through!'.
'I'm looking at your eyebrows', I said calmly.
'See', she said, 'I told you they'd fallen out.
'But I'm looking at your eyebrows', I repeated.
'Don't try and be clever', she hissed.
'Well let's ask Martin', I suggested.
Martin could see her eyebrows too.
'Don't be stupid', the wife scowled. 'He's a 9-year-old child. What does he know ?!'.