I have discovered a new and apparently controversial morning tactic. I wrap my arms around Hayley and say, in a tone of studied innocence, “What can I do for you today?” This is not, as it turns out, received as a simple expression of goodwill. It is met with narrowed eyes and the sort of silence normally reserved for unexpected knocks from the police or, more accurately, the opening move of a hostage negotiation.
This reaction is entirely rational. Nobody over the age of twelve believes in unprompted altruism before coffee. An offer of help at that hour is not kindness. It is evidence. Something has happened. Something will be requested. Or worse, something has already been broken and this is the calm, measured voice designed to buy time.
There is also the linguistic problem. “What can I do for you today?” is not the language of marriage. It is the language of consultants, hotel concierges, and men about to justify a purchase. It sounds less like affection and more like “let’s all stay calm and nobody needs to get hurt.” One does not say it casually. One says it while mentally locating the exits.
And yet, the tactic has merit. Not because it succeeds, but because it disrupts. It forces a pause. No instructions are issued. No complaints are launched. We simply hover there, suspended between affection and interrogation, each waiting for the other to blink. In household politics, this is an impressive achievement.
So yes, it is invariably met with suspicion. But suspicion is better than immediate task allocation. In the mornings, that counts as a strategic win.
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