My dad was an engineer and when he had a particularly perplexing design problem he would tune out everything including my mother. They would be watching TV and she would say something to him and he would totally ignore her. She was Italian and would haul off and throw an ashtray or something else equally heavy at him, not intending to hit him (unless she was an awful aim because she would miss him by a foot or two and she sat 6 feet away from him) to get his attention. The wall near where he sat would be full of dings and dents, which he would patch and paint before they had company.
He used to have to travel on business and she hated it. There would always be a big fight the day before, but she would always iron his shirts before the trip. Once she asked me to dampen a shirt for her to iron while she was yelling at him. I had cut my finger and put Mercurochrome on it and some of the Mercurochrome transferred to the collar of his shirt. She saw it while she was ironing and I thought she would kill him!
We finally figured out how the red stain got there and everyone, including my mother, had a good laugh.
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