What if you were married to a guy who talked, at least in the morning when the alarm went off, just like a Southern California archetypal D.J., animated voice and all? It's a cool June morning in Los Angeles, and a few minutes before the alarm goes off at 7 a.m., the coffee maker starts to brew a pot. Precisely at 7:00, Mr. Morning Guy starts in with his patter. How much can his wife take? Is there anything she can do, say, or write that can penetrate his spiel?
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