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Picture of a page from the book. Text reads: "My husband plays the trumpet, which is a sort of loud pretzel originally invented to blow down the walls of fuck-ing Jericho and later, to let Civil War soldiers know it was time to kill each other in a river while you chilled eating pigeon in your officer's tent twenty miles away, yet some-how, in modern times, it has become socially acceptable to toot the had cone inside your house before 10:00 a.m. because it's your job" and your wife should "get up" What a world! If one was feeling uncharitable, one might describe the trumpet as a machine where you put in com-pressed air and divorce comes out, but despite this—despite operating a piece of biblical demolition equipment inside the home every bright, cold morning of his wife's one and only life—the trumpet is not the most annoying thing about my husband."