Merrie Paulsen wasn't entertained by Patty's storytelling. Late in the evening, loading dinner-party dishes into the dishwasher, she remarked to Seth that it was hardly surprising that Joey should be confused about the distinction between children and adults—his own mother seemed to suffer from some confusion about which of the two she was. Had Seth noticed how, in Patty's stories, the discipline always came from Walter, as if Patty were just some feckless bystander whose job was to be cute?
"I wonder if she's actually in love with Walter, or not," Seth mused optimistically, uncorking a final bottle. "Physically, I mean."
"The subtext is always 'My son is extraordinary,'" Merrie said. "She's always complaining about the length of his attention span."
"Well, to be fair," Seth said, "it's in the context of his stubbornness. His infinite patience in defying Walter's authority."
"Every word she says about him is some kind of backhanded brag."
"Don't you ever brag?" Seth teased.
"Probably," Merrie said, "but at least I have some minimal awareness of how I sound to other people. And my sense of self-worth is not bound up in how extraordinary our kids are."
"You are the perfect mom," Seth teased.
"No, that would be Patty," Merrie said, accepting more wine. "I'm merely very good."