My husband is a big man. And he likes to look at stuff. And he makes contemplative noises while he does so: "Hmmmm. Ummmm. Ehhmmmmm." Despite the fact that he's well over six foot tall, he likes to lurk behind my shoulder and look at what I'm doing - not saying anything, just hmmmmmming. He's very good at lurking - he can effectively block a doorway, hovering between two rooms, dipping in and out of various conversations.
"You're blocking my light," I'll snap.
He blocks my light constantly - and I don't mean in the metaphorical sense, but in the physical where's-the-nearest-source-of-light-so-I-can-plonk-myself-in-front-of-it sense. It drives me bonkers.
So my recent decision to take stock of my cottons afforded me the opportunity to arrange my bright skeins according to colour - so pretty, look at the colours, aren't they nice? - was something that clearly interested him enough to hover nearby and hum. While I was positioning myself over the cotton, camera in hand, waiting for a ray of sunshine to light up the table, the dark shadow appeared behind me.
"Get out of my light, please!"
(side-steps. And blocks light from another angle.)
"Get out of my light!"
Minimal movement just outside of my peripheral vision.
"Please! My light!"
And as suddenly as he appeared, my shadow-husband disappeared and I could take my photo.
It could be worse, though. Sometimes he asks questions:
"Why are you doing it like that?" he'll say.
"Oh, no reason."
"What do you mean - no reason? Is there a better way to do it?"
"The way you're doing it is fine."
"Yes, but is there a better way to do it?"
"I didn't say that."
"But you implied it. Should I do it another way?"
"Not if you don't want to."
"It's not a matter of not wanting to. I just want to do it as efficiently as possible. Is there a better way to do it?"
"To be honest, I don't know. I'm not even sure what you're doing. Hmmmmmmmmm."
God grant me patience.