The Screwdriver

I look up from my work to see my husband rummaging through the kitchen drawers, obviously agitated and impatient.

"What are you looking for, sweetie?" I ask.

"A screwdriver," he replies, "It needs to be tightened."

"What needs to be tightened?"

"The screw," he says sarcastically as if to imply that perhaps I have a screw loose for not knowing this simple fact.

"Okay," I venture, "What screw?"

"A SCREWDRIVER! You know what a SCREWDRIVER is?!"

"Yes, honey, I know what a screwdriver is. I'm just wondering what you're working on is all," I respond cautiously, fully aware that there's no telling what in the world he is "repairing" and what kind of mess I might have to clean up in a little while. But not mentioning that concern.

"SEE?" He shows he a handful of screwdrivers he has brought from the garage and has found in my tool drawer. "A long thing? With an end on it? To do things with?!"

"Yes, I see," I respond, trying one more time, "I was just asking for more information about your project."

"It's a SCREWDRIVER! You're making me crazy!"

Oh, my darling. The feeling is sometimes so very mutual.