“I want you to get the ping-pong table off the carport.” 

D heaves a long-suffering sigh.  “Is this because your friend is coming over?”

“Yes.  It’s trashy-looking.”

D rolls his eyes, stretches and scatches his chest as though I am so far removed from his understanding.  “We ought not put on airs,” he announces self-righteously.

Put on airs?  Put.On. Airs.  I have be trying to get him to move that thing for two friggin’ months.  Hell, it took two weeks of constant badgering to get it out of the LIVING ROOM. 

Put on airs????    Tell me, people, would you consider it “putting on airs” to want the ping-pong table off the car port?  Would ya? Huh?  Would ya?