There is an old story about some folks who told each other the same jokes so often that they assigned numbers to them. Someone would yell out "seventeen," and the others would laugh hilariously. (I forget the punch line.)
I think of this story often when Peter and I are on a road trip because we always have the same conversations. For example, the following dialogue is mandatory.
Me: Honey, the speed limit here is 55 and you are going 72.
Peter: Yes, but everyone is passing me.
Me: But you can still get a ticket.
Usually I add: We have cruise control. Why not set it at a reasonable speed, say 69, and let it keep us there?
To which he replies: No.
At some point I open a thermos and ask: How about some water?
And then there is a version of the following, depending on where we are.
Me. We want to be on Rte. 15.
Peter: But the GPS says to go Rte. 95, and I'm driving.
Me: (to myself after an endless traffic jam) I told you so.
Like the folks who tell jokes, we could just assign numbers.