Greg and I are stuck at home for the second day in a row because we’re having an ice storm. Abe keeps pleading to go on walks. We bundled up this afternoon (Well, Greg and I did. Abe has no clothes.) and ventured onto the skating rink that is our neighborhood sidewalk. Greg wanted to take his new camera along. I will not tell you how much the camera cost, but I will tell you that that this was a bad, bad idea. This was an idea so monumentally bad that it could have resulted in Greg sleeping on the couch for a month. Lucky for Greg, I told him to leave the camera at home.

We waddled in a loop around the neighborhood, carefully navigating over the glassy surface of the sidewalks, while Abe dashed out in front of us. Good, old Abe, such a sure-footed creature, at least until we neared the house. As we crossed the last street before reaching our home, Abe’s feet skidded out to the side, sending his body into a diagonal slide before his thigh hit the ground. Greg and I giggled.

Then Greg proceeded to try walking across the exact same patch that Abe had fallen on. His feet started to slide, he flailed his arms in a jumping-jack motion, and down he went. He sheepishly got to his feet. “Be careful there,” he said. I gave him an exasperated look. Are you kidding me? If that dog — who has four legs to stand on and a center of gravity about one foot off the ground — cannot maneuver across a patch of ice, why would I try it? I’m no fool. I walked around the slippery spot.

A few days ago, I read a story in the New York Times about the psychology of happiness. The article explained that many colleges now offer classes that explore what makes people happy. Some scientists believe people can increase their happiness by figuring out what their strengths are, and then pursuing activities or jobs that use those strengths. The paper provided a link to a psychology Web site that has a test to identify your strengths.

I told Greg about this, and he quickly started to work on the test. The test had 240 questions, so he needed quite a while to finish. By the time he completed it, I had gotten into bed and started reading a book. He came upstairs and boasted about how his top strength was judgment and critical thinking.

“What was your biggest weakness?” I asked.

“What do you think it was?” he teased.

Shoot. How was I going to get myself out of this one? I don’t know a lot about marriage, and I don’t have much advice to offer. Except this: When your spouse asks you what his biggest weakness is, DO NOT ANSWER. This is the sort of question that never leads to happily ever after.

I fumbled for an answer. “Well, it’s kind of hard when I don’t even know what qualities the test looked at,” I said, trying to weasel my way out.

“I know,” Greg said. “But what do YOU think my biggest weakness is.”

I hazarded a guess, “Umm, lawn maintenance?” (See, the key is to pick a trait that really could qualify as the worst, but isn’t bad enough to truly offend your spouse.)

“What?” Greg screeched.

“Well, we’ve got all sorts of big weeds growing out there,” I said. “The side yard and back yard look horrible, and come spring I’m going to call someone to do something about the weeds.”

“Lawn maintenance wasn’t on the test,” Greg said. “My biggest weakness was modesty and humility.”

I put on my best look of surprise. And thanks to my verbal maneuvering, Greg and I are still married. Plus, he pulled some of the weeds the very next day.