The thing about the thing

Tonight, as Joe was getting ready for his workout:

“Will you come shopping with me this weekend?” I ask.

“Maybe. What do you need to get?” asks Joe, pulling on a sock and trying to ignore me as he gets in THE ZONE.

“You know, the thing,” I say casually.  I’ve already mentioned to him twice this week that I’m in the market for a new windbreaker.  This San Francisco summer ain’t gettin’ any warmer, just windier.

“What thing?” he asks, confused.

“You know, the thing.”

“Huh?”

“YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN!  The THING!  From the PLACE!”

“What PLACE? What are you TALKING about?”

“I need to get a jacket from North Face.”

“Oh,” Joe says, filling up his water bottle, inching ever closer to the door and away from me, the crazy lady that he has the misfortune of cohabiting with, “Yeah, that’s fine.”

I sigh dramatically.

“You know,” I tell him, as he grabs his keys, “You’d think after six years of this we’d be able to communicate a little bit better.”

“I agree.  We should probably work on that.”

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