Indy: I think I’m going to have to divorce DP.
Cougar: Oh no! Why?
Indy: Well earlier today he told me I was doing the dishes wrong, and yet the man doesn’t do the dishes ever.
Cougar: Oh dear. Maybe you should make a sign saying, “My dishes, my rules?”
Indy: The problem was he was right. I shouldn’t have [extraordinarily minor dishwashing etiquette rule that has nothing to do with divorcable dishwashing offense of putting in a cast iron pan, which neither Indy Clause or her spouse would ever do. Maternal Clause, please stop rolling in your grave. I wash that pan of yours without soup and reoil it every single time. With olive oil. OK? OK?]
Cougar: Why do we need husbands when we have sisters?
Indy: I don’t know. [The sisters sit companionably on the phone for a moment.]
Cougar: Let me distract you from your marital problems by telling you about the new homemade pasta [thingie whatever].
Indy (interrupting): Wait!
Indy: I can’t divorce DP. Because when you come and visit you have to talk about homemade pasta together. I don’t care, but he will. He just [and the conversation devolved/evolved into a discussion of homemade pasta.]
It turns out that if you don’t want to divorce your spouse because you want him have a conversation with your favorite second oldest sister about homemade pasta at some point in the future, then you’re probably doing okay. Phew.