"Does Jackson have sun in his eyes?"
This question was Leslie's code—apparently—to tell me that I (Les) needed to pull the visor over our crying baby's car seat.
"No, I think he's just fussy," I responded as I got into the driver's seat and glanced at our son in the rearview mirror. "What are we having for dinner tonight?"
"Dinner! How can I talk about food when I can't even hear myself think?"
Leslie unbuckled her seatbelt and climbed into the back seat to shield Jackson from even the slightest ray of light.
"If you wanted me to adjust his visor, why didn't you just ask?"
"No," I said with the confidence of a high-priced attorney. "You asked if the sunlight was bothering Jack."
"Exactly. I asked you to make sure the sun wouldn't bother him by pulling up the visor. Apparently I have to spell it out!"
"Not a bad idea," I mumbled under my breath.
"What?" Leslie asked.
I started the car and put it into gear.
By now, our baby had stopped crying (I suppose that had something to do with the visor on his car seat), and Leslie and I both sat silently as I drove.
A couple minutes passed when Leslie uttered a single word: "Tacos."
The conversational misstep
This conversation occurred yesterday on a carefree drive to a park. We were under no stress—other than a crying baby. Just a cheery little outing with our family—or so we thought. But why the hiccup in our communication?
Truth is, we know better than to let our conversation get tangled up with crossed wires. After all, 0we've been married for two decades. We counsel other couples. We give national marriage seminars. We have the tools. We know the techniques. We understand the dance steps.