Himself has a slightly distracted air of dejection. He lets out a sigh every 30 seconds like an asthmatic air conditioning unit.
Apparently, there is some football thing going on and we're not in it. 'It won't be as good because England's not playing,' he groans.
'Can't you just enjoy the football?' I ask innocently. A look of infinite pain crosses his face. Appalled at the depths of my female cluelessness, he goes off to find someone who understands him better, like the cat.
Obviously, women should be celebrating the fact we're not in Euro 2008. Over the next fortnight, our menfolk might even agree to leave the house without requiring an intravenous drip of Sky Sports.
Their brains will not be transmitting weak signals to Earth from distant Planet Footie, so they may be able to pick up some of our instructions. Still, some of the fun has definitely gone out of summer.
Sales of St George's flags have slumped. Even worse, the Englishman's delicate ego is flying at half mast. I almost feel sorry that the lads can't indulge their favourite delusion that England have a good chance of winning.
It used to be a harmless pastime that kept them out of trouble - at least until the inevitable penalty shoot-out in the quarter-finals.
Obviously women can't enjoy football, and equally obviously all men are obsessed with it. This is a bad thing as when there is football on us useless men can't get orders into our cheeselike brains.
'Apparently, there is some football thing going on and we're not in it.'
'I almost feel sorry that the lads can't indulge their favourite delusion that England have a good chance of winning.'
Oh, know nothing about football and despite it, but I'm sure that England are well rubbish
and I know this because... well, bashing England is the done thing, isn't it?
Fuck off back to the kitchen. Oops, that's not right, is it?