During these past few weeks cruising the Gulf of Mexico, your wife has mentally mapped the sun lines burrowed into every pore on your face. Tired of looking at you, her empty eyes glare longingly toward shore. Her nails tap a merciless drum roll on the table as her right leg, crossed over her left knee, rocks like an impatient child in an amusement park line. For her, boredom came and went days ago. Its indignant older brother, resentment, is settling in for a long, long stay.