Articles in “Strange Conversations”

In which my mother copes with the idea of having grandchildren.

ME: But if I have children, they won’t be Millses. They’ll be Caldwells.
MOTHER: Well, if they’re Nick’s.
ME: Thank you, Mother.
MOTHER: It’s worth clarifying that.

NICK: Well, this seems as good a time as any for this this game to crash.
ME: Nick, don’t be mean to the game.
NICK: I’m not!
ME: You love the game. And if you’re mean to it, it’ll leave you. And it’ll take all your achievements with it.
NICK: You’re the best.
ME: I know.
NICK: All my achievements?
ME: All of them.

NICK: Oh, bugger.
ME: I thought you’d really damaged that dragon, but now I see it’s called a “blood dragon”. So I guess it’s always covered in blood?
NICK: Yeah.
ME: Oh, there’s a beetle!
NICK: I need to change weapons!
ME: It’s a Christmas beetle! I can see it flapping around near the fridge!
NICK: Apparently, I just levelled up. That’ll be useful.
ME: You know what else would be useful? Getting rid of that beetle.
NICK: I just died, you know.
ME: Good. Now you can get rid of that beetle.

ME: The plumber said it wouldn’t damage the tree, and I guess plumbers have to work with trees a fair bit?
NICK: Yeah.
ME: Plus, it’s a jacaranda, and those are impossible to kill.
NICK: They’re pretty much weeds.
ME: Well, they are weeds in some areas. Any plant has the potential to become a weed. I don’t think you’re using the word “weed” correctly.
NICK: I’m using it in the colloquial sense, which is perfectly fine and couldn’t possibly be objected to by anyone.

ME: You’re secretly playing Skyrim!
NICK: Yes.
ME: I bet you’ve been secretly playing Skyrim since dinner.
NICK: I have not! Do you want to check the logs?
ME: The logs wouldn’t mean anything to me, Nicholas.
NICK: Actually, I’m not sure the logs even exist. Though sometimes I do wonder …

NICK: Well, you seemed to want me to be decisive.
ME: Oh, yes. Because I’m so the sort of person who wants men to make decisions for me.
NICK: You do sometimes!
ME: No, sometimes I just don’t want to have to make all the decisions myself.
NICK: Oh my god.
ME: There’s a difference! It’s just very subtle!

Christmas-planning conversation:

ME: And then we already have the thingumajig for your sister.
NICK: Yep.
ME: Are you listening to me?
NICK: Yep.
ME: Then what thingumajig am I talking about?
NICK: Damn, you’re cunning.

Skyrim meets marking deadline:

NICK: What’s wrong?
ME: Honey, why don’t you go and put the washing on the line? Because I have at least another four hours, maybe five, before I finish this marking, this is the eleventh day in a row that I’ve worked without a break, I have a splitting headache, and I just can’t cope with you sitting right behind me mashing buttons any more.
NICK: Maybe I can find another mouse? Another mouse might be a bit quieter.
(Long pause)
NICK: What? Why are you looking like that? That’s was a generous offer! I am being attentive to your needs!

NICK: I do want to go and get a cold drink, but then I’d have to put a shirt on.
ME: Well, it wouldn’t kill you. I mean, what happened to prettying yourself up before I get home from work, like you used to do in the ’50s?
NICK: What?
ME: You know. Fresh frock. Bit of make-up. I mean, has all the romance gone out of our relationship?
NICK: Too soon to say, really.

ME: Nick?
NICK: Yes, my love?
ME Why is there a packet of stale crackers, a tin of tomato soup, a packet of custard powder, and some caster sugar on the kitchen bench?
NICK: I had to find that tin of tuna.
ME: How on earth could the tuna be behind the custard powder, tomato soup, and caster sugar?
NICK: Well, turns out it wasn’t, but I wasn’t to know that.
ME: Which returns us to the question of why they’re on the bench.
NICK: Ah, you know. Stuff happens.

NICK: I know I’m not helping.
ME: No, you’re a hinderer. You’ve always been a hinderer. I think Vladimir Propp devoted a whole chapter to you.
NICK: He caught some of my best work, I thought.

ME: I can’t tell if I look tired or sultry.
NICK: Let me see. Hmm … just tired.
ME: Thank you, dear.
NICK: Wait, that was the wrong option, wasn’t it? You tricked me!

NICK: When I tread heavily in the bedroom, something jingles and it sounds like the noise a landmine makes in Fallout 3.
ME: Are you saying there’s a landmine in the bedroom?
NICK: No.
ME: Then why are you telling me this?
NICK: I thought you’d be amused by my silliness.
ME: No, I’m worried that there’s a landmine in the bedroom.

ME: I feel inexplicably sad.
NICK: Why?
ME: … I don’t know.
NICK: I guess “inexplicably” covered that.
ME: Pretty much, yeah.

MOTHER: Well, I think Alan Jones …
ME: Alan Joyce.
MOTHER: Well, whatever the little Irishman is called.
ME: I think Aled Jones is Welsh.
MOTHER: What does Aled Jones have to do with it?
ME: About as much as Alan Jones.
MOTHER: I didn’t say Alan Jones. I said Alan Joyce!
ME: You did not!
MOTHER: I did!
ME: You said Alan Jones. I said Alan Joyce. And you said, “Well, whatever the little Irishman is called.” And now you’re deliberately ret-conning this conversation while we’re still having it.
MOTHER: Yes, I am.