Mr. B is home sick today I'm at work. Mr. B wants to fire up the bread machine. He calls to ask where the whole wheat flour is. It's in the fridge. Ever helpful, I mention that the yeast is in the freezer.
He calls back to say he can't find the yeast in the fridge. That's because it's in the freezer, in that big metal canister that threatens to fall out and break your toe every time you pull something out. Yeah, it's there; it's right in the center of the top shelf, wedged in.
OK, he found it. All is well.
So what's my problem, you ask?
Well, he knows the whole wheat flour is in the fridge; we've actually talked about it because it's a silly habit of mine. I know he's wrestled the canister of yeast while pulling stuff out of the freezer. And I know that in the past week he watched me pull out those very same items to set up a batch of bread.
But apparently those data points are not connected to the 'whole wheat flour' and 'yeast' he was searching for this morning.
As a long-time mom and former wife, I'm trying really hard not to apply the default translation of 'a large proportion of what comes out of your mouth has no impact on me.' I'm trying really hard to look at it as an endearing personality trait.
Yeah, ain't it cute?