My grandmother Jane loved to sing show tunes (she knew all the words), pick stocks (she was good at it), and play bridge. She drank old-fashioneds and smoked elegantly. She never left the house without big clip-on earrings, coiffed hair, and spectator pumps. She had a fabulous whisky and cigarettes voice. In later years she suffered a number of strokes which caused aphasia--she could talk clearly, but often couldn't find the exact word or name she needed. She worked around that--she was trying to say something about Charles, her husband of 50+ years.
"You know," she said to my mother from her hospital bed, "The MAN. The Man Who Lives in MY HOUSE."
My mother and I both use this phrase to refer to our spouses. Somehow, it sums things up.