judge and jury

He says something, contradicts himself, anticipates my reaction, contradicts himself again.  Across the table, he's suddenly a one-man show, my own personal vaudeville act.

Laughing, I say, “I think I’ve just become totally irrelevant to this conversation.”

“No no, that was all for you,” he answers, returning to his ceviche.

“Correction:  I’ve become the audience to this conversation.”

“And the adjudicator.”

Well, yes.  “Well put,” I tell him.

He shrugs.  “The advantage of being a single girl.  Surely you know that?”

“Usually I try to pretend like I don’t.  It seems nicer that way.”