Miscommunication

I've just been knocking hard at the door, said the missus. I think she was miffed that I failed to acknowledge her as she entered the bedroom. So I patiently explained that I was listening to the Clash's epic Sandinista, specifically the monstrously funky The Magnificent Seven. (You're frettin' You're sweatin' / But did you notice you ain't getting'!?) It seemed fairly obvious to me that a necessary requirement of such listening is that the material needs to be played at a fair volume, such that a mere knock, however loud, simply blends in. But the dear girl seemed not to get the point.

That chimed in with an on-going feature of our relationship: she frequently tells me, That's very loud, in relation to the volume of the stereo. I generally assume she intends this as high praise so I nod and smile in happy assent. Could I have been wrong about this all these years? As a chap known for his sensitive understanding of the nuances of relationships it might be time to reconsider.

On the other hand, it could be time to listen to Somebody Got Murdered at appropriately high volume. (With the headphones on though, to ensure I'm not on the receiving end of said murder.)