The man says, “I should fix the leaky roof.” The woman, peeling potatoes, says, “What leaky roof?” “The leaky roof you’re standing under is what leaky roof I’m talkin’ about,” says he. “Since when does the roof leak?” says she. “When it rains,” says he. “The roof leaks when it rains. You never heard the ‘drippity-drop’?” “What’s a drippity-drop?” says she. “The sound of the leakin’ water from the roof hittin' the pail I set on the floor,” says he. “Geezus…25 years in the same house and ya never heard the ‘drippity-drop’? “Leaky roofs and ‘drippity-drops,” says she. “You’re hearin’ things, you are.” “Ah,” says he. “Truth be told,” says she, “it seems more like a hundred and twenty-five years.” “I heard that,” says he. “All the more reason a hundred and twenty-five-year-old roof might be leakin’, do ye not think?” “I have no time for thinkin’,” says she. “You’re the one spendin’ all your time thinkin’ while this house falls to pieces ‘round us.” “Falls to pieces? Ha – that’s a laugh,” says he. “My cousin Jimmy built this house from lannon stone and cream city brick and it’s solid as the day the first stones were laid, woman!” “Stone is stone,” says she. “Doesn’t matter where it comes from or who built it. And that includes your Cousin Jimmy.” The woman grunts while she peels the last of the potatoes. “What was that?” says he. “What was what?” says she. “That – what you just did?” says he. “I sighed. It’s a sigh,” says she. “I never heard you make that sound before,” says he. “We’ve been married for 125 years and you’ve never heard me sigh?” says she. “Not like that,” says he. “Ahhh…go on outta that, you!” says she. “Maybe you’re goin’ deaf too,” says she. “A minute ago you said I was hearin’ things,” says he. “I don’t need you tellin’ me what I said or didn’t say,” says she. “I know what I said.” “I think it was a grunt,” says he, “and you’re just saying it’s a sigh ‘cause a sigh sounds more womanly than a grunt.” “I don’t see what sighs and grunts have to do with a leaky roof anyway?” says she. “I sighed – I didn’t grunt.”
The man rises and walks to the window, peering outside. “Maybe I’ll do some fishin’ today,” says he. “Fishin’ where?” says she. “Fishin’ where, she says to me” says he. “Fishin’ right here in our pond is where I’d be fishin’!” “There’s no fish in that scumy pond,” says she. “And if you’d caught one fish from that pond I’d know because I do all the cookin’ and fryin’ ‘round her and I’d remember if I was fryin’ fish you caught from that pond.” “I’ve fished that pond hundreds of times,” says he. “Then where’s the fish?” says she. The man sips his tea. “Must still be in that pond, bastard fish,” says he. “You’ve never caught one fish from that scumy pond,” says she. “There’s nothin’ in that pond but scum.” “Right,” says he. The man takes another sip of tea, muttering, “Throw you in the pond with the scum is what I’d like to do,” says he. “What was that you said?” says she. “I said fishin’ in that pond’s for fools,” says he. “Well now you’re talkin’ sense,” says she. “Why don’t ya shut your gob, woman,” says he. “What was that?” says she. “What’s what?” says he. “Didn’t you just say something?” says she. “No,” says the man. “I sighed. It was just a sigh.”
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