(When my husband and I first got together he was in a lot of financial trouble. I helped sort out his finances and it was decided he needed to get rid of his car and buy a new one. He couldn’t get a loan at the time so I did and put the car in my name, which was also done to prevent any repossession from debt collectors, etc. We refer to this new car as his car and the car I already had as my car. We’re now married, his car is still in my name, and we have recently sold my car. Of course, Murphy’s Law, the week after selling my car the battery on his car goes kaput. He has to bike ride to the local auto store to get a new battery. Note: I regularly remind him (jokingly) that his car is in my name and is my car.)

Husband: “You should be doing the bike riding. I have to work tonight.”

Me: “It’s not my car!”

Husband: “Oh really? REALLY? It’s not your car is it? Can I have that recorded?”

Me: “Wait… No! It’s MY CAR! The registration is in MY name!”

Husband: “Registration does not prove ownership.”

Me: “The registration in my name means if you run off with a younger woman I can have you arrested for stealing my car.”

Husband: “Oh, thanks! I run off with a younger woman and all you’re concerned about is the car?”

Me: “You run off with a younger woman and you’re on your own, buddy, but I want the car!”

Husband: “Well, you better hope there is no younger women at the auto store.”

Me: “Oh, yeah? What are you going to do?”

Husband: *putting on a mock sleazy voice* “Hey, baby, I might not have a car right now but I’ve got a sexy bicycle!”

(I am the type of person who likes to move things around for a fresh look. My husband is the opposite so I usually move things while he’s not home. I’m cleaning the kitchen one day and decide that the microwave needs to be closer to where I prepare food instead of on the other side of the room. Husband walks in as I’m about to pick up the microwave. I usually have to move the microwave out of the spot to clean under and behind it, it’s not heavy to move.)

Husband: “What are you doing?”

Me: “Moving the microwave; it’s in a stupid spot.”

Husband: “Why can’t you just leave it there?”

Me: “Because I have to carry boiling items across the room and avoid toddlers at the same time.” *I start pick it up*

Husband: “That’s too heavy for you. I’ll do it.”

(He makes me put it down and drags it out, dropping the corner and taking a chunk out of the wooden bench top.)

Me: “Look at what you just did.”

Husband: “That thing was heavy. You would have dropped the whole thing.”

Me: “I move that microwave all the time, and have never dropped it.”

Husband: “See? This is why I don’t want you moving things around. Things get damaged.”

Me: “No, this is why I move things while you aren’t home because I don’t damage things.”

Husband: “I told you it was too heavy.”

(It’s after midnight and we’re in bed, but the dog is insistent on playing.)

Me: “No, puppy! Stop trying to force your balls under the blanket. They’re gross and it’s sleep time.”

Partner: “I’m so glad it’s you saying that to the dog and not me to you.”

(My husband and I share a girlfriend, with whom we live. We share everything pretty equally, including sometimes stealing each other’s clothes, which usually takes the form of our girlfriend or I stealing Hubby’s pajamas. Hubby is outside, while our girlfriend and I are in the bedroom, folding laundry.)

Me: *grabbing a pair of Hubby’s pajama pants* “I can see why you steal these; they’re really comfy.”

Girlfriend: “I know he sometimes gets annoyed, but it’s his fault for having such comfy clothes.”

Me: “He had it coming.”

Girlfriend: *singing* “He had it coming. He had it coming. He only had himself to blame.”

Me: *also singing* “If you’d’a been there, if you’d’a seen it, I betchya you would have done the same.”

Girlfriend: “Good thing he wasn’t in here, we may have worried him.”

Me: “At least he’s seen Chicago, so he’d probably just roll his eyes. Otherwise I’m sure he would’ve backed away slowly…”

(Of course, he was outside the bedroom window, so he probably heard us anyway.)

(My wife has a habit of talking in her sleep when she is stressed. In the middle of the night, I really need to go to the bathroom. When I come back, the following happens.)

Wife: *in a evil voice* “We need to kill him.”

Me: “Sorry, hon; what did you say?”

Wife: “Shh. He is here.”

(As I am lying down in the bed, my wife turns to me.)

Wife: *in a creepy voice* “Long… live… the… king…”