(It is the night before Valentine’s Day. My husband and I are driving through a store’s parking lot. My husband will often talk about me as though someone else is there and I’m not in the room.)

Me: *looking out the window* “Ha, look at this guy walking out of the store.”

Husband: “What? Which guy?”

Me: “The one with the big-a** bouquet of flowers and the shopping bag stuffed to the breaking point with pink. Nothing like waiting until the last minute, buddy.”

Husband: “Yeah.”

(He pauses for a moment.)

Husband: “My wife’s hotter than his girlfriend.”

Me: “How do you know? She wasn’t with the guy.”

Husband: “My wife wanted Arby’s for Valentine’s Day!”

Husband: “I hate ‘That girl is on FIIIIIREEE’ song. I keep hearing it on the radio.”

Me: “Dude, obviously, you didn’t read my status when I mentioned I hated that song because my coworker had it on repeat. I hate that song.”

Husband: “No, No I didn’t.”

(Twenty minutes later, my husband and I are arguing about him stealing the blankets.)

Me: “And then you pushed the blankets under you and pulled all of them off me!”

Husband: “Whatever, Katniss!”

Me: “Katniss?”

Husband: “You know, because,” *singing* “…that girl is on FIII-YAH!”

Me: “Ooh, literary burn.”

(It is my turn to pick dinner, since my boyfriend picked lunch. I’m bad with making choices.)

Boyfriend: “Come on! Just make a choice about the restaurant! Be spontaneous!”

Me: “The only spontaneous thing I can do is cry!”

Sister: “I wonder what kind of cheese they use in Mozzarella sticks. Do you know?”

Me: “I’m not even going to answer that.”

Sister: “What? Why?” *long pause* “Oh… right.”

Mother: “I’m so chagrined right now!”

Sister: “What’s ‘chagrined’ mean?”

Mother: “Annoyed.”

Sister: “Really? In what language?”