"That check. Do you want me to deposit it or cash it?"
"I don't care," I say. "Whatever."
"How's the bank account look?" she asks.
"You were the last one to look at it. How did it look when you saw it?"
"Not horrible," she answers, but then admits, "but not great."
"Why don't you cash half of it. It might be nice to have some cash on hand while we're on set -- if we need anything."
"Well," she says hesitantly, "I can cash it here at work. But if I'm going to deposit it, I'm going to have to walk, like, nine blocks away. So this is actually me being lazy. Do you want me to cash it or deposit it?"
I laugh, "then I want you to deposit ninety-three dollars and forty-seven cents of it! The rest we'll keep on hand!"
"I don't want to walk nine blocks in the rain!" she says.
"Well it's been known to."
Maybe you had to be there, maybe you need to be as sleep deprived as I was, but I laughed so hard and for so long, I had tears running down my face. I couldn't breathe. I had to hang up, go outside, and walk around in the hypothetical rain before I could breathe and see again.
My wife. No-one makes me laugh like she does.