One day on the drive from work, I said to Pete, “Sometimes, I think paint ruins the finish of the stuff I make.”

“What are you talking about?”

I said nothing. My attempts to spark some conversation with the gorilla behind the wheel were bound to be quashed.

“What exactly do you make, now?”

“I make things,” I said. “You know, like tables.”

“You only make tables.”

“So? What do you make?”

“I make a sandwich,” he said, “Then I make myself sit down. Then I make the tv turn on.”

I had nothing to say to that.

“What are you saying about paint?”

“Paint,” I said, “ruins the way everything looks.”

“You prefer a natural finish?”

“No.”

He said nothing. I looked out the window.

A few minutes passed.

“Ok, then, what are you talking about?”

“Well,” I said, “There’s no such thing as a natural finish. Maybe bark would be a natural finish. Or that grey fuzz that gets on wood when you leave it out in the rain.”

“Now you’re being stupid. That’s not even funny.” He did not look amused.

I just shrugged, but he didn’t see it, since he was glaring straight ahead while driving, looking slightly angry.

More minutes passed. “So, you like wood grain?”

“What for?”

“Instead of paint,” he said.

“Oh, no, not really.”

We came to stop sign. He stopped the truck and didn’t move ahead. “What?” I asked.

“What? Why are you acting like an idiot?”

“What do you mean?”

“What are you talking about, paint ruins your finish?”

I laughed. “I’m not talking about anything at all,” I said. “I just wanted to see what you thought.”

“About what?”

“Nevermind,” I said, “Let’s go.”

It was only after a week had passed that he brought it up again. “What was that all about, anyway?”

“I don’t remember,” I said.

He didn’t talk to me for a month after that.

What I was actually talking about was the fact that, when you make something, starting to paint it can immediately ruin how it looks, not that it really ruins it.

But it quickly turned into an attempt to see how irritated he could get.