My husband can go on about things sometimes, but not usually to me. I always marvel at his ability to yack when spares so few words most of the time. It can get really frustrating.
Yeah, yeah, he talks a lot at work.
Yeah, yeah, actions speak louder and all that.
It's just that I'm a verbal girl, I don't want to read his mental smoke signals all the time. I'm busy. Spit it out, man. Look at me, answer me, you know, something above the mini-grunt-and-nod combo would be nice on occasion.
I had to giggle today, as I was emailing him back and forth this morning. I'd sent him something to look at (that nifty tag that Chantal made me for my 'about me') and he emailed me back this:
That's it. I promptly responded with "You are the king of the one-word answers." Seriously. This is how things could go, around the house, on any given day (except the last two, they're true):
"I think I broke my foot."
"The kids got in trouble at school today."
"I just spent our last ten bucks on lipgloss."
"The cat peed on your clothes."
"Let's meet for lunch."
"My boyfriend is in town."
"Gonna head out to the store."
(mini-grunt/nod combo--not worthy of a full response)
"When you get home, I'll be waiting." (nudge nudge, wink wink)
I'm not certain it's understood, so I look around for neighbors before quickly stepping into the garage, and pressing ahm, something bare (and easily accessible) against the driver's side window right next to him.
"You're a little bit of a freak."
Whoo! A response that was a sentence.
Victory is mine!! (the crowd roars)
I wonder what it would take to get a conversation going, but I know I'm not doing that in the garage.
My victory is short-lived.
And to that all I can say, with a sigh, is: understood.