Another Tongue

"Do you want to get dinner tonight at that new Thai restaurant?" He asked.

"Yeah, that sounds good." She said.

"What sounds good?"

She stared at him, willing him to go on with that train of thought, to dare to tell her, once again, that she had simply misunderstood his words. "What?" She asked, not quite believing that this was happening once more.

"You said 'that sounds good,' but I asked whether you'd like to stay in and cook, or whether you want to go out somewhere, like maybe to the Thai restaurant." He blinked at her, daring her to call into question the logic he deemed infallible when compared to her feminine intuition and in-borne moodiness.

"No. Whatever. Thai. I'd like Thai." She raises her hands in the air, and lets them fall down, slapping them against her legs.

"You sure?" He cocks his head to the side and looks at her with wide, green eyes.

"Yes." She says through clenched teeth, not even remotely moved by the puppy dog stare.

"Okay, then."

It is another simple discussion gone horribly wrong. It ends alright. They'll eat Thai and move on to the next discussion, but it's just one more clear-cut example of the fact that she often wishes for a Him:Her translation guide.

He speaks another language. Luckily, he's told her himself that she has a knack for languages.

So, now, she'll buckle down and learn his, because, obviously, he's never going to learn hers.