Nearly everytime I leave the room, my husband asks, "Where are you going?" We live in a small small small apartment. There aren't may places I can go.
Just now, after we had finished watching an episode of 30 Rock, I got up off the couch and started walking towards the back of the apartment.
"Where are you going?" It was at least the third time he's asked me today.
"Where am I going every time you ask me that question?"*
"The bathroom," he answered correctly.
"Well, that's where I'm going. If you don't see me pick up my keys and walk out the front door you don't need to know where I'm going. Why do you always ask where I'm going?"
"Because I want to know where you're going."
Sigh. "But you already know where I'm going. You're so silly Chuk."
Then we hugged and then I went to the bathroom.
*I'm going to the bathroom 90% of the time he asks me. The other 10% of the time I'm getting a drink of water. These things tend to work together.