“How was The Hobbit?” my wife asks.

“It was actually OK,” the youngest one says.

“Are you kidding?” I say. “It was awesome.”

“Seriously?” says the oldest one.

“It was great!” I say. “Rocks fighting each other, people all flying on eagles everywhere.”

“Should I go see it?” the middle one asks, narrowing his eyes sceptically.

“You should go tomorrow,” I say. “The only problem I had is that people speaking Elvish makes me drowsy. I slept through this whole, like, elf board meeting in the middle, but then, when I woke up, there were…”

“Hang on,” the middle one says. “Are you recommending a film that you fell asleep in?”

“I fall asleep in most films,” I say. “It’s not necessarily a criticism.”

“How can they make three whole films out of such a short book?” the oldest one says.

“It’s not that short,” I say.

“How would you know?” my wife says. “You’ve never read The Hobbit.”

I turn to look at her. “You’re goddam right I haven’t,” I say.