"What do you mean?" I replied, shoveling a spoonful of milk-soaked Weetabix into my mouth.
"You know," she said looking at me like I should know. "After we got unfairly knocked out of the Champions League the other week, we deserve a bit of luck."
It is times like this I thank my lucky stars that I have a wife who not only likes football, but is happy to engage in a bit of footy debate. It's a bit like being down the pub with your mates.
"Oh come on now," I protested. "You support Manchester United - the luckiest team in the world! I hardly think it's fair to say you don;t get your fair share of luck already."
"Well your team were lucky yesterday," she fired back, referring to the fact that Marouane Fellaini was lucky not to give a penalty away for me team, Everton, against Manchester City after what was a clear handball in the penalty area.
"Look," I said, placing my spoon into my empty cereal bowl with a certain degree of authority and with a tone to let her know that I was about to seal victory in this little football disagreement. "Anywhere else in Europe, that Nani challenge is a red card all day long. It is only in England that we seem to have different rules to the rest of Europe, so technically you were not unlucky. That red card was totally justified."
I could tell by the look on her face that I had this one in the bag, so I casually sat back in the couch and went back to watching the rest of the game on MOTD.
"That is the second time you have upset me today," she muttered under her breath.
Twice? She must have seen the look of confusion on my face and decided to explain further.
"Last night I had a horrible dream," she started to tell me. "You were hanging out with all these girls in a bar, and you were flirting with them. I went off to get a drink and when I came back you were all naked in a shower, getting very touchy-feely. When I asked what you were doing, you just said it was something you always did." And then she sat back in her chair, arms folded, with a face like thunder.
"But..." I hesitated because I wasn't really too sure what to say. "But that was a dream. I didn't technically do anything wrong."
"Whatever," she said, not even looking at me.
So I did what any self-respecting man would do faced with such a ridiculous accusation that was totally no fault of my own.
"I'm sorry," I apologised.
Anything for a quiet life, eh lads?!