We had another well deserved date night tonight. Bedtime Stories and a couple of really nice steaks--I think we're on a roll.
It occurred to me that having a conversation with my husband is often not unlike speaking with someone who just suffered a concussion. It usually involves something that resembles gibberish, followed by a long intense stare as if he's waiting for me to respond to his nonsense statement or question. It can sound like this:
(We're driving down El Camino Real, passing the strip malls and head shops and fast food places. We're listening to music, and neither of us has spoken in a few minutes.)
Him: It's like we had that conversation in a dream or something.
Me: What the hell are you talking about?
Him: The way all the signs are upside down.
(He's referring to a conversation we had a few weeks ago, in which I explained to him that when a shop in a strip mall goes out of business, especially one where there's one big sign advertising all of the tenants, their sign somehow ends up upside down.)
Me: Oh. Yeah, OK.
I guess I have no point, other than that it can take a little extra effort to talk to Max sometimes.