Today I had rather a funny conversation with my favorite mortgage broker, Paul, with whom my ex and I discussed home loans three years ago, when we were thinking of investing in property together, before it became clear to me that this was a fine way to cause a murder-suicide, since she and I could not see eye to eye on anything at all regarding home ownership.  Anyway, this is what Paul and I said to each other today:

Him: So I got a call today from your ex.  

Me:  Oh? What did she want?

Him:  She wanted mortgage information, but she forgot to leave her phone number.  Do you have it?

Me:  Sure.  It’s (000-0000).  Wow, you have a good memory — that was a long time ago.

Him: So are you selling her a house?

Me:  Um.  Well, not as far as I know.  We’re not really speaking.  (Slightly alarmed silence from Paul.) But I think it would be wonderful if she got a loan from you.  I don’t have a problem with you talking to her or working with her.  It’s . . . well, it’s sort of an amicable kind of not-speaking.  At least on my end, it is.

Him: How can you have amicable not-speaking?

Me:  Well . . . you just can. 

So is this one of those things that makes sense only to me?  I fear it might be.