Those rules don't work at my house. Of course, my wife is taller than I am and has Elbows of Doom that slide out of their sheaths whenever she's angered or annoyed. I try any stunt like that, and I'd find myself with a new hole in the top of my skull deep enough to use as a candleholder.

(Seriously, the fun part is all of the stuff to do while waiting for the meat to cook. Of course, I usually smoke up 25-pound turkeys covered in tandoori paste, so I have at least six hours to kill before dinner is ready. I fix up all of the extras, get the plates around, and do all of the other incidentals: in return, when I do something particularly dopy, like comment on a romantic moment with a Beavis chuckle of "Heh heh heh, I'm gonna score. Heh heh heh heh.", she lets me live.