Wrong

No no no, my wife said. It's not anesthesiologists who we believe to be deadly dull. We've never even met any anesthesiologists except in the same way condemned killers meet them, when you are flat on your back watching the fluids begin to drip, hardly the time to gauge the subtleties of their angst.

It's radiologists you're thinking of, she said. It was that radiologist you met who complained about how being a radiologist was like being the whore of the regiment and then took you outside and showed you his $100,000 sports car made of wood.

Yes. Wood. You could look it up.

Had you hated him less, I would have loved you less, she said.

He didn't deserve to be married to a journalist. And I am glad to report he wasn't.