The guy can't tear himself away from his newspaper long enough to pay real attention his wife-- who is probably the one who knit him that sweater he's wearing-- and who is (for some mysterious reason) kneeling at his side, clutching and rubbing her cheek against his thigh in a desperate attempt for affection.
*rubbing her absentmindedly on the shoulder*
"Yes, yes, honey. I love you, too. Now, let's see what's on the sports page. . ."
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