I was so upset, having just found out that a book I got 'direct from the publisher' could have been obtained through Amazon for half the price (and with free shipping). It's taken me years to figure this out so, really, the fault is entirely mine. However, I was sufficiently incensed to write a scathing email to the publisher complaining of the price gouging and requesting cancellation of future shipments, deletion from the mailing list, and so on.
I decided to read it to my husband before sending it. It can't hurt to read it aloud, making sure all the complaints have been included and the tone is sufficiently indignant. He seemed to be listening to me, so that encouraged me to give him all the details and ask him for his opinion.
"So, what do you think?"
"Well, I like this one right here," he said, pointing to one of the coins he had just organized on the table.
That's nice, honey, but what does it have to do with what I was reading to you? I may have actually said this, but I'm pretty sure I just thought it while giving him a blank look. Or what I hope was a blank look.
Later, we were driving to the coffee shop, and I was telling him about a situation at work that was of increasing concern to me.
"Like that gray one over there," he said, pointing at a car stopped on a side street.
It happens all the time. All day long. I'm talking about one thing; he's talking about another. Or perhaps it's more that he's easily distracted. It seems that by the time I finish a sentence, he's forgotten the first part of it. A friend suggested shorter sentences. I'm working on it.
One of the things I miss most is a real conversation with him. I miss the ability to share my thoughts, feelings, or ideas with any expectation that he's processing those and preparing his feedback. There's plenty of talking going on; it just doesn't always make sense.
If you've been in a life partnership for decades as we have, you've probably developed the ability to finish each other's sentences. To notice the same things at the same time and perhaps even to make identical comments simultaneously. Or to not comment at all while stifling your giggles, if that seems wiser. Treasure that.