Catching myself saying some funny things around the house, lately:
“You’re not my father” to the umpteenth not-the-thing-(piece-of-paper)-i-was-looking-for.
“How’s it gonna be . . . when you don’t know me . . . anymore.” re wondering how a table would look in a somewhat rearranged place.
Something like metaphors so hyperbolic they’re absurd.
Yes indeedy, pilgrim. =)