Phone rings.
“HEY!  I have a question for you.”
“OK, go.”
“Why do they call it rush hour when no one is able to rush?”

It’s a lazy Sunday and we both have our houses to ourselves.  This happens so infrequently neither one of us knows exactly what to do about it.  I’ve cranked up the radio, and hung out in my underwear.  He’s apparently over thinking things and calling me randomly.