Wife: We need to get you new shoes.
Me: What do you mean? I have three pairs of shoes. Walking shoes, sandals, and dress shoes. Why do we need anymore shoes? There are so many shoes by the door that we could go back in time and outfit the entire rebel army with footwear so fresh that we might be able to change the outcome of the Civil War!
Wife: Your walking shoes have giant gaping holes in them, no one wears sandals in November, and your dress shoes are brown, and all your dressy clothes are black and those two colors don't go together.
Me: They're walking shoes. The holes in them are for ventilation. This is what allows my feet to breathe. And you've never met people from beach or desert areas then. They'll wear sandals in February. And it's not like there's a law against black and brown being worn together. I mean, I imagine black and brown bears are best friends, terrorizing the forest creatures together hand in hand!
Wife: Stop being ridiculous, we're getting you new shoes, and that's all there is to it!
Me: I think you're manifesting this argument so that you can say you try and get me nice things all the time so you can use that against me when I tell you that YOU don't need anymore shoes.
Wife: What are you talking about? We just bought me shoes, like, a week ago!
Me: Right, but you've now realized that we didn't get you ENOUGH shoes, and you're trying to be extra liberal with your shoe distribution and rationing in the hopes that I'LL be extra liberal with MY shoe distribution and rationing.
Wife: We should really get you to a hospital.
Me: Don't change the subject! I know how these things work! It's like how I tell you to eat the last piece of meat when I KNOW you're full just so I can seem magnanimous, only to have you turn around and say, no, please have it, I couldn't eat anymore! It's a brilliant plan!
Wife: No one's accusing you of having brilliant plans.
Me: I know, and I'm frustrated about it! Tell me I have brilliant plans!
Wife: Ok, you're brilliant. Possibly the most brilliant man to walk the planet. People should write songs about your brilliance.
Me: Thank you, I know. Now...what were we talking about?
Wife: (slyly) You had just suggested that we get takeout for dinner.
Me: Hmm, I don't remember that, but you see how brilliant my ideas are? I'll order.