Why is it? A Mystery of Life

Why is it? Everyone at home can be napping on the couch, or outside doing chores, or maybe in the case of sons even out with friends while I am doing dishes or knitting straight plain stockinette or garter stitch--any thing that doesn't take any thought. Why is it, the moment I get to a "count each stitch" part of the pattern, OR sit down to work on my blog, everyone has to talk to me?

Why can I be all alone in a quiet house, reading a mystery BUT as soon as I get to a crucial plot point, or the summation of the detective's theory--Why does hubby come in and start talking? And frequently start talking by picking up a long forgotten (I thought) conversation from a couple hours or even a couple days ago?

Why at the best part of a great old movie or musical, does Younger Son sit down to tell me some long (VERY long) car story involving a friend I don't know with references to car parts I don't recognize, and going off on every tangent that presents itself?

Are all male type people like this?

While I mull these thoughts over--maybe it will help my concentration if I look at fiber animals.
Nice alpacas, pay no attention to the woman with the scissors.