Fiction: The things we do I'm sleeping on the couch tonight. It's not a comfortable piece of furniture by any stretch of the imagination, sagging like a resigned middle-aged gut, but there's no point investing in anything better till the kids grow up or the cat is toilet-trained, whichever comes first. Anyway, it's mine for the night and since I won't get a wink of sleep, you might as well know why. Earlier this evening, I was in the kitchen whipping up my famous vegetable stew when I heard a key scratching in agitation and a resounding thump as the front door banged shut. I didn't need to be channeling Nostra-whatshisname to get the message - loud and clear - she was upset. I hated days like these because it instantly brought a fog of tension to the whole place. I'd quickly recall the endless articles on how to handle such situations to, as the author purringly put it, be a supportive spouse. Would have said 'husband' but don't always fe