"Me? I'm not grinning. Not at this time of the morning."
"Pete Miller, you were, too. Just like the cat that ate the fish."
"Canary, you mean."
"That's what I said. What's so funny?"
"Nothing," I said. "We just got a good night's sleep for a change. I like my sleep."
She harrumphed a bit, as suspicious as she usually is, and I went to the stove for more coffee. Over my shoulder I said, "Want to play a little cards tonight?"
She was skeptical about that. "At Art's, I suppose."
"Sure. Saturday night euchre tournaments."
"That noisy place? Nothing doing."
I told her the jukebox and the television set were out of commission and there'd be no noise she didn't make herself. She loved to play cards, I knew, and she liked Art. It was just the incessant roar that wore her down. I managed to talk her into it.