Identity Crisis

Have been tucked up in bed for two days with a raging sore throat and a headful of cotton wool. If only you could see me now (this is one of those statements which actually means the opposite); I am propped up in bed with a big old college-style scarf wrapped round my neck, a granny cardigan and jogging bottoms adorning my leaden body, a laptop on my knees, an iPhone by my side and a big stack of blackcurrant lemsips just within reach.
As I came round from a groggy sleep just now I started to muse on something. It might be that I am just a little feverish. Or it might just be true. It almost certainly implies that I need to get back to work and stop thinking the trivial kind of mind-wandering thoughts that can only occur to you in such circumstances. But anyway, what I thought was....
Am I becoming an ... Old-Fashioned Husband?
Let me explain what led to this thought. Recently, I've noticed myself indulging in husband-like activities, such as spending less than 15 minutes choosing a Birthday present for my partner - between meetings - and then getting all his sizes wrong. And the other day I actually texted to ask what was for supper on my way home. Then, there was this other thing. Quite a few times in the course of a week, Paul had to repeat himself several times whilst I was busy emailing on my iPhone. He's used to me ignoring him at the expense of the email, but it was the way I absent- mindedly looked up and said, 'Hmm?' that worred him most. Help! Next I'll be sidling through the front door after work, shuffling into some comfy slippers and sitting down with the newspaper, waiting for someone to bring me a cup of tea.