50 Years of A Certain Kind of Marriage

"Your father thinks I lost my voice because I'm too loud," the rasp in her voice is exacerbated by translation from digital signal through the atmosphere down to my walk home in the rain. 

"That's not very nice," I say, dodging a puddle in my path, phone in one hand, umbrella in the other.

"No, it's not nice," half to someone else in the room on her end.

"Wait," I ask, "are you passive-aggressively bitching to Dad while you're on the phone with me?"