Conversations with my wife can be confusing at times. At other times they can be downright disturbing. I put it down to the fact that she is a woman, whereas I am but a mere male.
One of her habits – I wish I could call it endearing but it is actually distinctly irritating – is to miss off the last word of a sentence. Granted, that doesn’t make a lot of difference on many occasions but there are times when that is the one word needed for the sentence to make any sense at all. As I said, I am a mere male and so this sometimes baffles me. But I have noticed that when the Old Bat is with female friends, they know instinctively what the missing word is. Indeed, they are often responding to a remark or question before the Old Bat has finished speaking. Take this as an example:
OB: That dress Fiona is wearing is very . . .
Me, to whom the dress in question looks quite ordinary and unremarkable: Very what?
OB: Oh, you know!
Me: No, I don’t. Very what?
OB, turning to a woman friend: What do you think?
Woman friend: Yes, you’re right, it’s very . . .
The dress still looks very ordinary and unremarkable to me and I remain ignorant of the OB’s opinion.
Then there are the times when she has been thinking about something and assumes that I, by ESP or osmosis or something, know full well what she has been thinking about. Like this:
OB: Can you get them out, please?
Me: Get what out?
OB: The chops, of course!
Me: Get the chops out of what?
OB: Get the chops out of the freezer!!
Me: There are lamb chops and there are pork chops. Which do you want?
OB, sighing: The lamb chops! I told you we’re having them for dinner.
Me: When did you tell me?
OB: Oh, I don’t know. Sometime.
I find it easiest to simply shrug my shoulders and get on with things, even if it does entail splitting an infinitive.