Paul Graham swept into the apartment, seized his wife about the waist and swung her into the air, to set her on top of one of his bookcases.
"They've done it, honey," he shouted.
Elaine kicked her heels in a rapid tattoo against the back of the case.
"Paul Graham, you get me down this instant," she ordered indignantly. "Who's done what?"
Graham stepped back and beat on his chest. "Meet the new production manager, Mentacom Division, Consolidated Electronics."
"Production manager? But, Paul, only first-class citizens can hold supervisory positions."
"Not any more. Didn't you have the communicator on for the news? It all came in."
Elaine shook her head and jumped to the floor. "I've a confession to make, Paul. Ever since they stopped the compulsory notices, I haven't had the thing on at all. It bothered me."
Her husband shook his head in mock dismay. "So now, I'm married to an ignoramus." He spread his hands. "She doesn't know what's going on in the great, big world." He shook a finger at her.