Eric and I were in the kitchen the other night, he rummaging around in the catch-all drawer while I was standing in the doorway thinking of scouring pads and abrasive cleaners, when we had one of those moments that every couple who have been together for a long time has: one person speaks their interior monologue while the other person selectively miss-overhears what is spoken.
Eric: “Something, something, something…biscuit rain.”
Me (Snapping out of my trance): “Biscuit rain? Is that anything like acid rain, but with biscuits?”
Eric: “I said, ‘There’s that biscuit ring. Not biscuit rain.’”
Me (Disappointed): “Oh. But wouldn’t biscuit rain be cool?”
Eric: “Polluting our atmosphere with unnaturally high levels of buttermilk?”
Yeah, he went there. And I love him for it.