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I can’t quite place the time they started these kind of healthy arguments, but I can assure you, it’s always a pleasure to watch the two of them thrust and parry like professional fencers.

Angie, my nineteen-year old daughter, and Samantha, my 35-year young wife, were veterans at it.

She wanted to spend it at the beach, but her mother ‘wouldn’t let her.’ I sat in my couch and listened with a grin as each put forward points of her own.

Angie wanted to work on her tan, Sam reminded her of our own swimming pool.

Sam should have stepped in and pulled my fat out of the fire, but instead, she supported her daughter.

“You are not that old, dear, no matter how much you think you are.

Then, as usual, Angie turned to me with her imploring eyes.

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I broke out into a loud guffaw when Sam replied in the same breath that all we had to do was dump a sack of salt into our pool.

I won’t be alone, and you will know where I am, right? Mine still had her lipstick, and I could taste it – taste her – every time I spoke. Sam tossed me the keys to the Porsche and the house. She was going on a one-week trip to the States, her longest one yet.

“Better take that along in case you are late.”Angie was now pulling me up from my couch.

The last time you went to the beach, we had to come looking for you – the problem, kiddo, is that you love the beach too much.”I loved this banter.

Sam is a lawyer, and a damned fine one, and I happen to be a businessman, which suits us just fine – even if Sam has to bill by the hours, my time is often flexible enough to spend a lot of it with my family and still make more than my wife.

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