One long-running fight

For the past ten years, my wife and I have had three fights. One of them she has asked me not to write about, one of them you would have to be there to decide who was right and who was wrong, but the third one is worth discussing.

It is Thanksgiving, 1994. The Lions have already beaten the Bills, and Aviva and I decide to go to Naoh's Ark for Thanksgiving dinner.

When we get to the restaurant, the Packers - Cowboys game is on, a game that has playoff implications in the NFC Central (This is before the realignment). I need to hear the score before we go inside.

Aviva, I should point out, is the driver. It is her car, in her city, in her state.

I tell her to wait a second before turning the car off, so i can ehar the score of the game. She gets out of the car, leaves the keys in the ignition, and hits the autolock button on the door.

A minute later, I hear the score, get out of the car, and close the door.

The keys are still in the ignition.

She was the driver. She left the keys in the ignition. She hit the door lock button.

It is an open and shut case. She is to blame.

But to hear her tell it, she blames me. Because I wanted to listen the radio, she puts the blame for locking the keys in the car on me.

Despite the fact that I never touched the keys. Didn't put them in the ignition. Didn't turn on or off the car. Didn't lock the door.

We still argue about whose fault it was, and I am confident that those of you thoughtful, intelligent people who read this can assess blame where it belongs; squarely on her shoulders.