Recycled conversation

Mrs S and I have this conversation about once a year. The question generally comes out apropos of nothing and almost always catches me by surprise. It's usually kicked off by her maternal guilt chip going into anxiety mode over not being at my stepkids every whim. Generally three weeks after a problem has arisen and been resolved by a healthy dose of horse sense.
"Bill?" Says my other half.
"What?" Oh-oh I know this tone of voice.
"What would our lives be like if we'd stayed in the UK?"
"Going crazy stuck in the same jobs. Trying to make a difference in a mad tick box driven system. My blood pressure up through the roof, both of us in self destruct mode heading for divorce because we'd always be barking at each other about the crap TV, traffic, ever encroaching rules, useless customer service and the sheer day to day rudeness of the place." I say. I used to interpret this as homesickness. Now I know I'm just being used as a sounding board. It's almost reflexive now.
"Just checking. Thanks for reminding me."
"Thought so."
"You smartarse Bill."
"Ow!" This last expostulation arises when she playfully digs freshly sharpened talons into some tender fleshy morsel of my anatomy. Not that it hurts, because being a fairly robust chap I have a fairly high pain threshold. Again, it's almost got to the stage where the response is formulaic; Pavlovian, even. More style than substance.

Having read in the UK press about the mad Huhne and the greasy Cable; with their seeming desire to squeeze every taxpayer until the pips squeak their last, I am even more glad we bailed out when we did. Only sorry we couldn't persuade the kids to come with us at the time. Never mind; they'll join us next year for certain. We have a whole new life we're developing over here.