[Walking to our car from a hockey game.]
Me: Brrrrrrshivershivershiverbrrrrrrrrshivershivershiverbrrrrrrrr. . .
Husband: What are you doing?
Me: I’m cold. It’s got to be in the single digits. It feels like my head’s going to explode.
Husband: What are you talking about? It’s 14˚ at the coldest; a nice, balmy, Canadian winter day
Me: Yeah, all true, except for that it’s definitely colder than 14˚, it’s anything but balmy, and we’re not in Canada.
Husband: We’ll see what the car shows for the temperature.
Me: Yeah, except it’s in a heated garage, so no pointing at it in the first 5 seconds and gloating.
[Arrive at car. Get into car. Start car. Handy little temperature indicator says it's 43˚ out. Husband points and gloats. I ignore him.]
[Drive a few miles. Temperature drops. 38˚ 32˚ 27˚ 18˚ 14˚. Husband points. I give him the universal sign for "Just wait a minute."
Temperature stops at 10˚. I point. Husband mutters: Your car’s wrong.]
Me: Okay, maybe not 8˚, but I was still closer than you were.
Husband: Yeah, one degree closer.
Me: I said it was 8˚, you said it was 14˚, how is 10 one degree closer? Is this how you do math in Canadia? (He loves it when I call it Canadia.)
Husband: It’s about how you figure out, not whether the answer is right or not.
Only Daughter [in back seat][did I mention Only Daughter was with us?] It’s dropped to 9!
Husband: Okay, now you’re one and a half degrees closer.
[Temperature drops to 7˚]
Me: Okay, NOW who’s closer?
Husband: I’m on a horse.
(It seems weird that we were at a hockey game last night, but Only Daughter’s youth choir was singing the national anthem, and we were still in town until this morning, and I think Dad would want us to keep on living, and laughing. Not sure how he would have felt about the gaps in Husband’s logic — even Only Daughter wanted to know what Husband being on a horse had to do with anything, especially since, clearly, he was not.)