“Are you getting me anything for Christmas?” I asked Henry. (We don’t always get each other presents because a certain 5-year-old rapes our bank accounts.)
“Yes,” he replied, to my surprise.
“Does it have anything to do with—”
“No,” Henry cut me off.
“How do you know what I was going to say?”
“Jonny Craig. And not unless it’s a death notice.”
“Damn,” I mumbled, all defeated. (Like its anything but predictable. Someone who’s only read my blog 5 times could have finished my sentence.)