Not quite grasping the sanctity of "Monday Night Football," I plunked myself next to my new husband one Monday night to chat. He was distracted by the action on TV, and after being shushed a few times, I gave him a "look."  

Immediately contrite, he picked up the remote. "I'm sorry, honey," he apologized, "I'm being rude. You go ahead and talk--I'll just turn up the volume."