Husband gestures at the cardboard sleeve on the table. It contains a mobile phone case that was too large and which needs to go back to the vendor.
I nod, irked that he's reminding me. I'll get round to it - sometime. 'Yes. Of course.'
'Because if you don't do it soon, you won't be able to.'
'I know. I've got until July to send it back - it'll be fine.'
'Well, just so you know....'
We stand in silence for a moment, then Husband grins. 'You hate me sometimes, don't you?'
After a pregnant pause I say 'Of course I don't.'
'But you paused.'
'No, I didn't. I was just thinking.' (Specifically, I was thinking; 'Oh it has to be returned? No shit, Sherlock... ' but that doesn't seem a helpful thing to say out loud. Particularly because I've already had it a week and haven't yet got around to it.)
'Thinking what?'
I turn away so he can't see me smirk. 'I was just wondering if you can read my mind.'
Husband considers this, perhaps trying out his - thankfully - non-existent telepathic skills. 'No. No, I have to say I can't.'
'Huh. Well, that's probably for the best.'
We snort companionably at the horrific thought of being able to read each others' minds, and the cardboard sleeve remains on the kitchen table.
