Me: Here’s your coffee. It’s black because there’s no milk left.
Husband: <EXCEEDINGLY UNPLEASANT EXPLETIVE>!
Me: You know, we’d have PLENTY of milk if you’d LISTENED to me when you fetched two cartons of milk at the supermarket and I told you we needed FOUR cartons to last two weeks. Instead of INISISTING that two cartons was PLENTY.
Me: And now, WHAT A SURPRISE, here we are, all run out of milk, even after I sneaked off and got another carton while you were STANDING around the aisle ARGUING with me.
Me: So the next time we’re in the supermarket and I say, “Honey, we need eight litres of milk for two weeks, in other words twice as many cartons as that,” what are you going to say?
Husband: I’ll say, “You are SO RIGHT, sweetie.”
Me: Very good. And in the MEANTIME, I don’t want to hear you bitchin’ about drinking black coffee, or having to substitute cream or yoghurt or whatever and how it just doesn’t taste the same-
Husband: YOU BOUGHT ME AN IRON FOR VALENTINE’S DAY!
Me: What the- oh my god- are you STILL REGURGITATING THAT OLD CHESTNUT? It was TWELVE YEARS AGO! Like, 1999 or 1998 but definitely before it was even the year 2000! Surely there has to be some sort of statute of limitations, or are you still going to be going ON ABOUT IT when we’re 90? I mean, GET OVER IT!
Husband: All I’m saying is: I simply don’t feel the milk offence is on the same scale as getting someone an iron for Valentine’s Day.
Me: The lack of milk might be a lesser offence but its repercussions are far-reaching, the reverberations of which are still felt TO THIS DAY AND BEYOND.
Husband: It’s just.
Husband: I still can’t believe you gave me an iron for Valentine’s Day.