Interior apartment, afternoon Me: There's still bread. You should eat some. Spouse: What? Me: Bread. There's bread. Spouse: You want me to eat some bread? Me: Yes, I'm hawking bread at you. You don't have to eat the small piece. I'll use that in meatballs. Spouse: What? Me: Meatballs. Spouse: Oh. Meatballs. Me: There's granola too. Spouse: How much ingredients are left. Me: I used all the flakes but there's lots of fruit ( holds up containers of dried fruit ) Spouse: Lots of fruit left. Me: Yes, it will be good for hot cereal. Spouse: What? Me: Cereal. Hot cereal. Porridge, Cream of Wheat. Spouse: Oh. Me: You know, the longer we live together, the more we sound like Pinter characters. You know, how the dialog is always stilted, and people talk over each other. Spouse: ( raising foot ) Pull my foot. Yes, I swear this conversation happened today (hell, every day). It was actually longer, but would probably work better on stage than page.