My grandmother wrote that in response to my last column, in which I commented on my wife's family. Indeed, a handful of you wrote to express concern that perhaps I wasn't treating my in-laws with enough respect.

I reckon the column met with such negative reaction in part because not everyone caught the reference to the film "My Big Fat Greek Wedding."

Lesson learned: Y'all aren't in my head.

But I will admit that there are times when I forget who the important person is in my marriage; who wears the pants in this relationship.

Not me. I wear a kilt.

Oh, sure, I've got this fancy-dancy column. But let's be honest -- the only reason you're reading this is because you've only got a few TPS reports to file today, and you're trying to stretch out how long that will take so you won't be handed more work before 5 p.m.

My wife, meanwhile, is taking some 20 credits at San Diego State University this semester. That in itself is daunting, but add the fact that her degree is science-based, which means she also has several labs. There are days when she leaves the apartment at 8 a.m. and does not return until after 10 p.m. -- having spent all day in classes or labs.

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She's a member of two academic societies, and has a considerably higher overall GPA than I ever earned in a single course (I once earned a 3.7 in English. Conveniently, it was the same semester that I spent several weekends weeding my English professor's garden and helping move sandbags after a flood).

I -- to quote Welsh band Stereophonics -- have just enough education to perform.

Back in 1955, Emma "Grandma" Gatewood -- at the sprightly age of 67 -- became the first woman to hike all 2,170 miles of the Appalachian Trail.

"Most people are pantywaists," she once wrote.

Although it's unlikely my wife would ever say such a thing out loud (my buddy, Jim, prides himself on being the first and only person to have ever been flashed the "one-finger salute" by my wife), I suspect she'd be inclined to agree. Amid her intense university study, she is training to run a half-marathon in January.

The fact is, Rachel is perfect. Well, almost perfect ...

My wife is smart, athletic, witty, friendly, compassionate, doesn't drink, doesn't smoke, is a hell of a cook, and looks like a super-model. It's no wonder my grandmother got mad at me -- quite possibly the only thing I've ever done right in my life was to marry Rachel, and I go off and insult her father's favorite football team online.

I suspect that if my wife were to ever come to her senses and leave me, so, too, would most of the people I know.

Just the other day I received an e-mail from my best friend, Paul, my buddy for 13 years. The best man at my wedding. My amigo. My pal. I even wrote a column about him. But in that e-mail:

Questions About My Wife: 4
Questions About Me: 0

My brother and I are both proud underachievers, so neither of us ever had to deal with our parents asking us, "Why can't you be more like your brother?"

Admittedly, it's a bit weird to experience that sort of comparison in my marriage. No one ever says it but I'm sure they think it. Well, Rachel doesn't think it, of course, because she's pretty much perfect.

Indeed, it often seems that Rachel's only flaw is having decided to marry me, which I think is a very good flaw to have.

Chris Cope is married, with no children. His column appears every other Tuesday.