Articles in “Strange Conversations”

NICK: I’ve discovered a new way to read the old classics.
ME: The what?
NICK: The old classics.
ME: I don’t know what you mean by that.
NICK: You know—books written more than three years ago.
ME: Ah. So, “the classics,” then.
NICK: Yes.
ME: How, then?
NICK: An iPhone app.
ME: Right.
(Pause.)
ME: But it’s not as though you needed an easier way—they’re scattered all over the house!
NICK: Yes, but if it’s on a computer, it’s more interesting.

While Nick is kindly cooking:

ME: Honey, please throw rubbish straight in the bin. The kitchen is a disaster.
(Yes, I am a harridan.)
NICK: Yes, dear.
ME: Do not use your hen-pecked voice.
NICK: Oooh. But I only use it when I’m feeling hen-pecked.

Hmm.

The type of conversation we have when watching Mystery Science Theater 3000 after watching Harvey Birdman:

ME: All right, if we have a child, you can call it Avenger.
NICK: So, if it’s a boy, Steve Rogers Avenger Caldwell Mills.
ME: I think Mills Caldwell works better than Caldwell Mills.
(Why? Why did I think that was the important point here?)
NICK: It’s just alphabetical. And, if it’s a girl, Scarlet Witch Avenger.
ME: Okay.
NICK: Well, it’s better than The Wasp Avenger Mills Caldwell.

The type of conversation you have when one party (guess which?) has spent the entire day reading Neil Gaiman’s Sandman comics:

ME: You know, there’s nothing good about a hug from some random stranger.
NICK: True. But I’m not a random stranger. I am Nicholas, your boyfriend.
ME: So you say, but how do I know? How can I be sure of that?
(Pause)
ME: Ooh, now I’ve freaked myself out!
NICK: Well, then, you’ve learnt a valuable lesson, haven’t you?

A storm-inspired strange conversation:

ME: I’d like to take some pictures of the lightning, but even on continuous shooting, I don’t have any warning. If the thunder only came first, that would be convenient.
NICK: Yes. But then the laws of physics would have to change.
ME: True.
NICK: And then your camera wouldn’t work, because it reacts to light.
ME: And also, I would probably explode.
NICK: Indeed. If, in fact, you’re able to plode in the first place.

No, I don’t know what he meant, either. But it made me laugh.

Several years ago, now, but alas, not in a trivia competition:

SLIGHTLY INTOXICATED GENTLEMAN AT BAR: You celebrating something, love?
ME: Yep.
SLIGHTLY INTOXICATED GENTLEMAN AT BAR: What’s that?
ME: Oh, I just graduated with my Honours degree.
SLIGHTLY INTOXICATED GENTLEMAN AT BAR: What in?
ME: English Literature.
SLIGHTLY INTOXICATED GENTLEMAN AT BAR: Great! Can you give me a synopsis of James Joyce’s Ulysses in a single sentence?
ME: I . . . can try.

True story.

While watering my bamboo, the only plant I’ve ever been able to keep alive, for the second time tonight:

(It’s worth noting that the only reason I’ve been able to keep it alive is because bamboo is so tough, not thanks to any undue care on my part.)

ME: Oh, someone’s a thirsty little plant. Because Mummy’s been neglecting you, hasn’t she? Because Mummy doesn’t really deserve plants, does she?
NICK: Treena?
ME: Yep?
NICK: Don’t let the plant see the crazy.
ME: The plant’s not going to tell anyone.
NICK: I repeat my objection.

Preparing for a D&D session:

NICK: So I’ll grab those clothes off the line, and then I’ll take a quick whizz through the bathroom.
(Pause)
NICK: And then I’ll probably clean it.
ME: I was going to say something, but then I thought, “Do you really want to encourage him?” And I thought, “No. No, I don’t.”
NICK: I encourage myself!

After a discussion about the phenomenon of yuppie survivalists:

NICK: Of course, it would be good, in the event of a zombie apocalypse, to have a shotgun in the house.
ME: You’re not getting a shotgun.
NICK: Well, there may not be a zombie apocalypse either, but it’s best to be prepared.