Brand names discussion turns into a Dumpster fire

I told Mrs. Brad I had an idea that stuck to me like Velcro: That she and I should stop using brand names to describe generic products.

We should respect the brands.

"You mean a 'hook and loop fastener?' she asked. "Velcro is a brand name."

"You got me!" I shouted with enthusiasm. "I'll write that down on a Post-In note with a Sharpie so I won't forget."

"You mean 'sticky note' and 'permanent marker,' right?" she asked.

I laughed. She was right. I had a problem saying brand names. "I wish I could use some Wite-Out on things I say," I mumbled.

"It's 'correction fluid,'" she said. "Wite-Out is a brand name,  you nitwit."

Ain't love grand? We have pet names for each other: I call her "Sweetheart," she calls me "nitwit." She doesn't even capitalize nitwit!

However, this was getting ugly. "Don't get mad at me," I said. "I know you can stew on these things like a Crock-Pot!"

"It's a 'slow cooker,'" she said. "Crock-Pot is a brand name."

I laughed again because that's what I do when I don't know what to say.

"Can  you give me a break?" I asked. "I didn't come here for verbal ping-pong."

Mrs. Brad shook her head in frustration. "You mean 'table tennis?'"

That went too far. Mrs. Brad and I rarely argue. It was almost like I was making up the entire argument inside my head. When we started dating decades ago and I was working at a Laundromat, we never argued.

"It's a coin-operated laundry," she said, lending credibility to the idea that despite the fact it was all inside my head, she could read my mind. Is this something that happens when you're married for 35 years? I needed to Google it.

"Google is a specific search engine," she told me, still apparently reading my thoughts.

"You're giving me a headache," I said, this time aloud. "I need to take aspirin."

"Brand name, nitwit," she said. "It's acetylsalicylic acid. Bayer calls their acetylsalicylic acid pill 'aspirin.'"

This had gone off the rails. I came into the house excited to propose a new rule for us and now she was giving me a verbal Powerpoint presentation on what I didn't know.

"It's a 'slide presentation program,'" she said, apparently reading my thoughts again. "Powerpoint is Microsoft's version. There are others."

I'd had enough from this know-it-all.

"Listen, this whole thing was my idea. I know that Sanka is a brand of decaffeinated coffee, for instance," I said.

"Sanka?" she asked. "Are you a time traveler from 1975? Really? Your example is Sanka?"

"This whole conversation is making me nervous," I told her. "It's turning my legs to Jell-o."

"It's 'gelatin dessert,'" she shouted. "Everybody knows that. Kleenex is a brand name for facial tissue. Frisbee is a brand name for a flying disk. Get it right!"

This was the angriest I'd seen her since that time that a guy on "The Bachelor" was really mean. "Woah, back off!" I said. "You've really drunk the brand-name Kool-Aid, haven't you?"

"Kool-Aid is a brand name, Brad," she said. "It's a flavored drink mix. And Band-Aid is an adhesive bandage. Any other questions?"

She was angry. I didn't want to make things worse.

"Sorry I angered you so much," I said, backing away. "I guess this is turned into a real Dumpster fire, didn't it?"

"Large garbage tote."

I walked out, thinking it would be nice if we had a Jacuzzi where we could both relax.

Don't say it!

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.